Always You
by lifeinahole
Summary: A place to store all the ficlets I post to Tumblr when I can't sleep or when I can't stop thinking about things. All Captain Swan. Primarily T rated, but will be noted if otherwise. (Emotional Roller Coaster ahead- These range from funny to downright depressing.)
1. Modern Swimwear (T)

_(A/N: Killian comes across some modern swimwear, without realizing that's what he's looking at. If you don't know what a "Swimming Sock" is... Don't look it up. It's fucking weird. Rated T for implications? Sure.)_

* * *

"Swan, what is this?"

Clothes shopping with Killian was always an adventure, and Emma was used to hearing this by now. She turned around to see Killian looking at swimwear. Her eyebrows shot up as he held up a scrap of fabric, intended for men, and for once she didn't have an answer.

"Killian, I-I don't know. I honestly don't know."

He holds the tube of fabric closer to look at the tag and squints.

"Swim sock," he reads, and furrows his brows further. "But why would someone wear socks when they're swimming? And it's not exactly shaped the right way." Of course, the light goes off in Emma's head and it takes everything in her whole being to not blast the thing out of his hand with magic. The only reason she doesn't is because she isn't sure she could do it without hurting Killian in the process. So instead she laughs.

Because how do you explain to a 300 year old pirate that it's a penis pocket, a sausage sack, a schlong stocking to cover just your manly bits when you're swimming?

"Judging by the way you're laughing I should just put it down and walk away, shouldn't I?" he finally asks.

"Put it- put it down," she finally gasps out, sucking in deep breaths in an attempt to calm down.

"Are you going to explain?" he asks, single eyebrow raised. Emma just shakes her head.

"Nope."

Two weeks later, he bursts into the sheriff station with wide eyes, a slightly horrified look taking over his whole face.

"Happy has one," he says grimly. "I'll never unsee it."

Emma tries and fails to remain in her chair when she starts laughing.


	2. Going Back (T)

_(A/N: I spent a really long time after the finale wondering if Emma had Killian's cutlass or if she had procured another one. Even after proving to myself that it's another one she has when she faces Rumple, this came to mind and I had to write it and I hate myself for it... So I'm totally okay if you all hate me for it, too.)_

* * *

Emma thinks long and hard about how she's _not_ going to think about what she's about to do. She and Henry wait, after evading Evil Snow and Dark Charming and a horde of angry dwarves, tucked around a corner and in the smallest space between two buildings they could find. They wait, and wait, and wait, and when Emma thinks it might finally be okay, she instructs Henry to stay where he is.

"I can help, Mom," he says. And he's a hero in his own rights now, but that doesn't mean he should have to partake in what's about to come next.

"I'd feel better if you were here, out of sight, and safe," she tells him. She pulls him close again, relief at feeling him real and in her arms washing over her yet again, but there's still a pit in her stomach and she dreads the next step. "I have to go. I'll be back in five minutes. Ten tops. If I'm not, you have to get to Regina and try to stop that wedding."

"Mom-"

"Henry, don't. I'll be back. That's just in case." He huffs out his breath in annoyance, but hugs her tight one last time before sinking a little further into the shadows.

Emma skulks around corners, trying to not draw the attention of the clueless townspeople in case they're eyes for the Queen, but still trying to remain as unnoticed as possible. She makes her way quickly back to the alley they'd just fled, and although she's mentally prepared herself for it ever since they ran in the first place, she still can't stop her throat from tightening or the tears from burning in her eyes.

He's still there, crumpled on the ground where he fell when Charming pulled the knife from his back, where the life of this other Killian was ripped away in front of her. It didn't matter how Rumple wanted him to be written, he was still willing to give his life to make sure she and Henry escaped alive.

Emma checks in every direction before carefully proceeding to him. She doesn't have time to throw herself over his body and weep like she wants to. Swiftly, she moves to his side and crouches down, carefully unbuckling the belt around his waist and gently tugging it free. She tries not to think about how she helped him strap it on in the first place.

She reaches a little further for the cutlass, still where it fell from his hands as he reached for her in his last moments, and slides it into the scabbard. Tears fall without her permission as she thinks of them, of muscle memory, of his excitement and curiosity for the life he was trying to help her get back to all at the cost of his own.

Only for a moment does she allow herself to linger. She brushes one gloved hand down his cheek, forcing herself to remember that if they succeed, it will all be okay. She mouths the words she wants to say over his body, and vows that if she gets back to him, if they all just get back to where they belong, she'll say it for real because it's probably overdue at this point. Hell, it was probably overdue the night he told her she was his happy ending.

There's no time for anything more. She glances back one more time before rounding the corner, hoping harder than she ever hoped for anything in her life that they get this right, she won't waste the second chance she's been given. But she knows that the sight of him on the cobblestone street will forever be burned into her memory whether or not they fulfill their next mission.

Emma moves back to where Henry is hiding and gathers him, not saying a word about the cutlass in her hands and urging him to move a little faster.


	3. V-neck Shirts (M)

_(A/N: This was going to be a thing before "It Isn't Slow" happened, and I've never returned to finish it. Honestly, I just like this snippet as is. Bordering on M for sexual implications, but no actual smut here. Sorry.)_

* * *

Killian likes v-neck shirts, on or off Emma.

The breathy moan Emma makes when he nips her collarbone startles both of them. Killian lifts his head and studies her face, small but smug smile stretching across his lips.

"Do that again," he urges and returns to his previous position to get a repeat reaction.

"I don't even know how I-" but she doesn't get to finish as his teeth graze another spot between her collarbone and shoulder and the same noise slips from her.

"A man could get drunk on those noises alone, love," he murmurs against a spot just above the neckline of her shirt. She's distracted, so any notions of responding to that claim are somewhere out the window and possibly running down the street. Her hands would be doing a better job of undoing his vest buttons if he didn't stop pulling her focus away.

He's caged her against the wall of his room at Granny's, not even giving her a moment to fully enter the room before this delicious torture began. Finally, she slips the last button open on the vest and makes sure to swipe one hand a little lower. She's satisfied when he makes an unexpected noise of his own and seems to move into her hand unknowingly.

"Swan," he warns quietly, and she knows. She knows she's playing with a brand of fire that neither of them were expecting tonight. She really only intended on staying for a couple minutes.

They hadn't had a chance to neck like teenagers in a couple days and she was getting antsy. But she's having a hard time trying to stop herself when he's taken to nibbling on her earlobe and inching his hand up the front of her shirt. And so she does what only seems logical.

She uses his belt loops to haul him against her, throwing all caution and expectations for an early evening to the wind.


	4. Thoughts in Dreams (T)

_(A/N: Yet another ficlet that I hate myself for, but I love spending time in Killian's mind, so it was inevitable that I would wind up writing this. I'll try to make the next ficlet more uplifting. Also, while I have two fics in progress and I haven't forgotten about new chapters to "Routines", I am always up for a challenge of a prompt.)_

* * *

He dreams one night that he has both hands back. That he's able to frame Emma's face with each one, kissing her lips with all the tenderness he can manage, and this time he's not worried that the hand is cursed. He wishes that he would've realized sooner that the Crocodile was lying to him about his hand, so that he may have had longer to hold her with both of them.

He still relishes those moments from their date. His hands linked with hers, and he couldn't help but look down at the left one holding her right one, fingers entwined like a perfect fit. And he asked her to go out with him again, and she kissed him. She _kissed_ him. The feel of his own leather jacket under the flesh of his left hand, pulling her closer, was _everything_ to him at that moment.

That hand trailed up and brushed the edges of her ponytail, the sensation of which he will never forget. When he thinks back on that moment, he ignores the uneasy feeling he had at that point, the one that broke the kiss and had him staring at that supposedly cursed hand like it would strangle her all on its own.

In the dream, he's not only able to hold her face in both hands, but also map out the lines of her smile with all ten fingers if he chooses. He's able to hold the back of her head with one hand while the other twists in her ponytail, the soft silk of it slipping between each strangely familiar digit. And he _kisses_ her.

Dream Emma is just as she is in the waking world. She is soft skin, and toned muscles, and warm smiles, and cool discernment. She runs her hands through his hair, she caresses his cheek. Her finger grazes the back of his earring. She jokes, smiles (the one that makes his heart beat faster), laughs (the one that feeds the light). She's _there._

And when he wakes, when the sunlight filters in through the windows of the _Jolly_ and he opens his eyes, he spends at least ten minutes staring at the empty side of the slim bed that he still leaves for her, even if the space is only occupied by his dreams and the memories of _I love you_.


	5. Leave Your Hat On (T)

Rated: T (With sexual implications)

Summary: In which Killian finds his old Naval uniform and puts it on, only to take it back off. And not much else as far as plot is concerned.

A/N: Requested over on tumblr, and I couldn't resist. But it lacks the smut I originally intended it to have, and ended up with some feels. So... Yeah. Sorry.

* * *

 _It still fits_. That's the first thing that comes to mind when Killian looks in the mirror. His whole Naval uniform still fits relatively well, although he can feel the places it's a little snug from where he's grown. The fabric stretches only a bit over his biceps and thighs, muscles replacing what was once scrawny when he sailed with his brother as captain. _Liam_ , he thinks. _If only you could see me now, brother._

He had been telling Emma about becoming a pirate, how he had buried his brother and moved damn near the whole ship to follow him into piracy with his speech. How he flung his jacket into the sea after burning the sail that flew them to Neverland. How he listened to them chant _Captain Jones_ while the ashes fell around them all before scrambling to follow his orders of getting the paint to make the ship theirs.

How, even in the fog of mourning over his brother, he waited for the deck to clear before tossing a rope with a hook into the water to retrieve his jacket, because other than the case that held the sextant, it's all he had left of Liam and he couldn't part with it. It didn't matter that it belonged to the kingdom he no longer served. It mattered that it was part of the uniform he'd worn when serving his captain and brother. So he fished it out of the water, cleaned it the best he could, and then tucked the whole uniform away. He wonders now if the hook he used then is the same one locked into his brace, but a memory that old is bound to be faulty.

Sensing the melancholy hanging over his head, Emma had cocked her head to the side from her spot on the bed, a light of mischief in her eyes and a smirk on her lips.

"Do you still have it?" she asked. And lo and behold, he did. Somehow, despite parting with his ship twice, it was still buried in the back of the wardrobe, smelling of the sea and forgotten dreams. She had watched in silence as he slid each item on. He only fumbled a little when it came to the buttons, familiar yet not, as he'd still had two hands the last time he'd fastened them.

And now here he is, from hat to boots and every piece in between, back in the uniform that he once wore as a young man, and it still fits. The biggest difference is where the jacket catches on the brace of his hook, the metal gleaming unfamiliarly from below the left sleeve, but otherwise it's like falling into that portal behind Emma all over again, except this time he never even had to leave the captain's quarters to travel through time.

Just then he hears the low whistle of appreciation from Emma. She's propped up on an elbow in the bed, still all creamy skin with her hair tumbling over one shoulder, partially obstructing the view of her delectable breasts from where he spies her in the mirror. He cannot ever recall having an erection while in uniform, bad form and all, but the slight constriction of the pants is at least less uncomfortable than the leather he wore as a pirate. Definitely nowhere near as bad as the pants he wears in this world.

"You may look damn good in modern clothes, and _dashing_ in all that black leather, but there's just something about a man in uniform." Her voice comes out husky and soft, the smile on her face and in her eyes comes through her voice as well.

Finally shaking some of the somber mood, Killian lifts an eyebrow at her without looking away from the mirror.

"Is that so, Swan?"

A hum of affirmation sounds from her and she's gracefully sliding off the bed, slinking over to where he stands. He can just barely see a spot above her heart where he got a little too exuberant with his lips and teeth, and a few more areas reddened by the scrape of his facial hair, but she moves with ease until she's standing behind him, her eyes locked with his in the mirror the whole time. Her fingers brush along the jacket from the back of his neck, over the thick embroidered patches on the shoulders.

He stands completely still as those hands wander down his back and under his arms. He glances down to see them skimming the front panels until they linger on the rows of buttons on each side of the front.

"You know what's even better than a man in uniform?"

His voice is stuck somewhere in his throat because she's pressed against his back. Though he cannot even feel her bare skin, he can feel the heat of her tormenting him through all the layers of his uniform. It is suddenly and unbearably confining, the neck too tight, the pants too snug, the jacket and vest and shirt and pants hindering his skin from touching hers. When he doesn't answer, Emma continues on her own, her hands gripping each side and tugging, ever so damningly slow, until the coat starts to slide from his shoulders.

"Watching a man get _out_ of his uniform," she finishes, just as the heavy fabric crumples to the floor. He reaches up to remove the hat, but Emma stills his hand with her own. "Oh no. You can leave the hat on."

He chuckles, then, because although he can feel his blood singing through his veins and rushing downward at the timbre of her voice, he is more than willing to rise to the challenge she's throwing at him. He spins, catching her by surprise and capturing her mouth with his, paying no mind when the front end of his hat tips up. He's too busy with the way her tongue spars with his, with the way her lips give as much as they take, with how her hands grip the collar of the ivory waistcoat since she has already dispensed the coat to the floor.

With his left arm wrapped around her waist and his right hand tangled in her hair, he carefully walks her back to the bed until her calves bump the wood of the drawers below the mattress. He moves his hand to her shoulder and applies a gentle pressure until, with minimal resistance, she sits back down on the bed.

"So you might have a front row seat and enjoy the show," he claims when he takes a step back. With her eyes burning with intensity, he draws a hand to his neck to loosen the cravat that he's still surprised he was able to tie in the first place. He tugs at the knot, slipping his fingers into the center of it and tugging. He unwinds the silky fabric from around his neck and catches it all in his hand, tossing it effortlessly to land in Emma's lap. Her delighted laughter is his reward and he has to school his face back into something sultrier for the occasion.

Smirk back in place, he continues on to the buttons of his waistcoat. Each one is freed from its home, his fingers nimble and sure once more. It turns out it is _much_ easier to remove than it was to initially put on. He watches in fascination as Emma's eyes follow the movement of his hand and her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Her hand reflexively grabs the cravat and holds it tight. With the last fastener released, he moves his hand back up to tug the fabric away. He rolls his shoulders and the momentum takes the waistcoat off the other side, as well, before it drops neatly into the curve of his hook.

The way she fidgets on the bed is giving her away. She may want him to hurry the process, but Killian keeps his current pace. The vest gets deposited on the chair next to him after he frees it from the hook, and he quickly slides the suspenders off his shoulders. His hands move to another line of buttons, this time belonging to the white shirt that is the last layer covering his torso. Apparently realizing his intentions to keep slow, Emma's eyes flick back up to his as the hand holding the cravat glides up between her breasts, running the silk across the skin of her neck.

His tongue pokes the corner of his lips as he watches her, as she watches him. It's difficult to determine who is winning this battle, currently, but as he tugs the tails of the shirt free from the trousers that are now entirely too _still on_ , he takes pleasure from the way her breath catches and her hand stills its journey. When he's done unbuttoning the last of the shirt, he repeats the same move that he made with the waistcoat, placing the shirt over the chair as well. He's down to pants and stockings and boots, and Emma slides a little further back onto the bed, resting back on an elbow and crossing her legs.

His own impatience is growing as her hand starts moving once more, the silk now unfurled while she trails it back down her abdomen and across her thigh. His hand twitches with the need to reach out and follow the same path that she's been mapping out with the cravat.

"You still have a few more pieces of clothing, pirate," she taunts, and the silk is smoothed across her kneecap and he cannot decide if he wants to be on his knees between her legs or just buried in her all together, but those thoughts are not making it any easier to remove the next articles.

The boots are discarded as quickly as he can manage. Emma's lips are pressed together to hold back laughter and he's stifling his own, because there is no way to remove these boots in a sexy fashion. It's not like Emma's boots, where there's the pleasure of drawing down a zipper with his teeth as his hand travels up her inseam, no. He takes care of the white stockings in the same fashion, throwing them over his shoulder carelessly.

Killian changes the game once more, moving forward quickly and tugging on her ankle to bring her back to the edge of the bed. She's already leaning forward to meet him halfway when he bends to kiss her. His hand slides up the length of her leg and across the smooth skin of her back. The cravat finally falls to the floor when she reaches her hands up to grab his hair, all but pulling him onto the bed with her. He manages to stabilize himself above her, though, and pulls back after one last nipping kiss.

"You started this, Swan. I intend to see it through to the end."

She huffs out a laugh, but once again sits back to observe. Her hand is on the move, though, and Killian stills in his motion of unbuttoning his pants in favor of watching her clever fingers brush along her inner thigh.

"How would the Lieutenant have me?" Emma asks, her hand gliding across her stomach and up across one breast. He has to swallow hard to dislodge his tongue from his throat at the sight.

"The Lieutenant would be more concerned that he wasn't wearing his uniform according to code regulations." He watches as she bites her lip against another laugh and then she's kneeling on the bed, pulling him close by one of the suspenders that dangles from his waist.

"We can't have you breaking any codes. That's bad form," she murmurs, and he knows she's mocking him but he still moves closer even as he chortles. His hand is threading through her hair as she slides the button of his trousers free. She pushes the pants and the cotton undergarment down at the same time, those soft hands gliding over his backside, and he's decided he could live in the warmth of her gaze forever and not have a complaint in the world. Kicking free of the fabric at his feet, he nudges her again to move back onto the bed, following her on this time.

"Alright then, Swan. I think it's time for me to remind you how _good_ my form can be," he announces. She's laughing when he drops the hat on her head, but the sound is quickly muffled and swallowed by Killian's mouth on hers. He doesn't really know where the hat ends up after that.

When they settle again, when the only sounds in his quarters are the sounds of their breathing, when the sweat is cooling from their skin as their heartrates slow to resting, when he's pulled her close and fallen asleep in the circle of her arms, Emma brushes the hair from his forehead and kisses him there.

"I think he would be proud of you," she whispers against his skin in the dark of the room, and the ship rocks gently in agreement as she follows him into sleep.


	6. Little Things (T)

In an act of defiance from going to bed alone most of her life, Emma pulls all the covers to one side of the bed, leaving the other half bare. If any one-night-stands are brave enough to try staying, this act usually scares them off fairly quickly.

She slips up one time, and the next thing she knows, she has Henry. And every so once in a while, when he's old enough, he sleeps in her bed when he has nightmares. His sleeping position is an exact mirror of his mother and she makes sure to not pull the covers over when his little body settles next to her.

When she meets Killian, it's not supposed to be more than a one time thing, but as she shakes his hand, there's something there that she's never felt before.

Killian stays the night. She doesn't even try to suggest he leave when they're tangled in the aftermath. In his arms, with his breath warm against her shoulder, she feels that tug again and settles in, not letting thoughts of the next morning cause panic just yet.

In the morning, there's no panic. Just Killian's hand on her breast and long stretching of limbs that turns into lazy morning sex. After that, there's breakfast, and she's okay with that, too. She stops stealing the covers from that point on.

When Henry meets Killian, Emma sits back and watches the instant camaraderie and wonders again if she should be panicking. Instead, she listens to Henry excitedly tell her about how Killian wants to take them sailing on his boat, and can easily visualize what they'll look like together: happy, _like a family_.

They fight, of course, once or twice or a handful of times. It always ends in hushed apologies and heartfelt talks, and Emma flicking one of the pointy tips of his ears in an expression that says _No one has ever done this for me_ without the words, while he kisses the tip of her nose in a way that says _I know._

He first tells her he loves her when he's buried under a pile of blankets that have collapsed from the fort he and Henry built. It's when she's pulled the couch cushion off his face that he says it, and they both stare wide-eyed at each other until she laughs and leans down to kiss him.

"I love you, too," she says, then flicks his ear for good measure. He kisses her nose in response. Henry makes a noise and calls them gross, but when they watch a movie that night, he sits between them and falls asleep on Killian's shoulder.

And somehow, all the little accidents add up into something better, something much bigger than wrapping all the covers around herself when she went to sleep at night.


	7. Can I Kiss You? (T)

It's well after midnight when Emma finds herself on the swing set in the backyard of David and Mary Margaret's house. It can't be more than two minutes before Killian is joining her, sitting down on the unoccupied swing and letting the companionable silence fill the small space between them.

With the summer breeze ruffling through his hair, Killian looks young and carefree. Emma tries not to stare at him as he sways gently forward and back on the plastic swing. Instead, she pushes off the ground, pumping her legs and propelling herself higher than the small movements Killian is making on his own swing. When she's reached a speed and height she's satisfied with, she tips back and looks at the stars. Her long blonde hair brushes the rubber mulch that coats the ground of the small playground. She's only vaguely aware when Killian copies her moves, swinging himself in earnest and eventually matching her pace.

She rights herself and turns to look at him, her best friend for more years than she cares to count, the one person that has stuck with her through everything even when she sometimes didn't want him to and it's like seeing him for the first time all over again. This time, though, the gangly thirteen year old is replaced by the well-built thirty year old who turns his head and smiles so big at her that the dimples in his cheek make an appearance.

"Jump?" Killian asks breathlessly. She shushes his single word, reminding him that their hosts and their young son are all asleep in the house.

"Hell no! I'd rather not break something," Emma whispers, but the laughter is bubbling out of her even as she says it.

"Dare me to?"

"Nope. Don't need you breaking anything tonight, old man."

Suddenly, his heels are digging into the mulch and she's cursing her flip flops. There's no way to stop and flee before whatever it is he's planning on doing. She squeaks when he pulls himself off the swing and rounds on hers, far enough away that she won't hit him, but it's clear that she has no way out of this. She tucks her legs under the swing and goes with the momentum she's built.

"If you're waiting for me to stop, you're going to be waiting a while," she remarks. There's a smug grin on his face, and she doesn't like it one bit.

When she's slowed down enough, Killian lunges forward and catches the chains of her swing in each hand and she holds on tighter to not fall off with the sudden change. Face to face with him, she can't stop staring into his eyes where laughter hides between the bright blue. The light from the back porch is haloed around his head, coming through the strands of his eternally messy hair. It takes a heartbeat to notice that his expression is more serious than she's used to seeing it, and another to realize that their faces are merely inches apart.

"Emma," he says, and it sounds more like a sigh coming from his lips, which she also can't stop staring at. "Can I kiss you?"

"You have to ask?" Emma's eyebrows shoot up, because she's seen Killian around women, and he's never shy or reserved, or anything that he's being right at this moment.

"I'm a gentleman, Swan. I thought you knew that."

"I mean, you've claimed you are. I've never exactly seen it in action."

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he's smiling, and she can't think of any reasons not to anymore, so she leans forward and closes the distance between their lips. It's brief, and surprisingly chaste, and she opens her eyes when it's over to see those eyes focused back on her. One is not enough.

Emma stretches her legs down and he gets the hint, moving his body forward to bring the swing lower to the ground so she can stand up. As soon as she does, she's yanking him by the shirt and burying her other hand in his hair.

When David finds them spooning on the couch the next morning, he doesn't say a word, but Emma's pretty sure she hears Mary Margaret mutter something along the lines of _"It's about fucking time"_ as she ushers her husband into the kitchen to start breakfast.


	8. You Came Back (T)

Killian's new apartment is perfect for him, he thinks, even as he discovers a fifth blonde hair clinging to his newly moved-in items. The long hair is cast aside like the others as he continues to hang up his small wardrobe and put his bedroom in order.

He doesn't check the mail until the third day after he's moved in, figuring it to still be devoid of any mail for him since his change of address would've just gone into effect. Instead, he finds a handful of envelopes and a few ads in the small box in the lobby. All are addressed to an "Emma Swan" and he takes them back up to his apartment to figure out what to do with them.

Weeks go by, and Killian continues to receive mail for Emma Swan, and still finds the occasional blonde strand amongst his stuff despite the fact that he's cleaned the whole place top to bottom. The first week, he wrote on each letter to indicate that Emma Swan was no longer occupying this apartment, but even the letters he wrote on returned to him. The pile grows, along with his frustration with the U.S. Postal system.

Even more shocking than dealing with Emma Swan's mail and the hairs that he swears must multiply on their own from hanging out in the corners of each room is the package that appears after he's been living there a month. He signs for it, anticipating that it's an item he's purchased. The delivery man gives him a funny look, but hands over the small box. Killian is already back in his apartment when he notices that it's addressed to Emma Swan, and that it's from a company that delivers feminine products. Well, it could've been worse. He places the package next to the small box he's taken to placing her mail in as it continues to collect.

It's another week of collecting mail that doesn't have his name on it and cleaning up the endless blonde hairs that appear to just be bloody everywhere before there's a knock on his door. Killian peers through the peep hole and the first thing he notices is the long, beautiful, blonde hair. Ah ha!

He swings the door open and the green eyes that meet his pop open a little wider. Her lips tip up a little and he sees her eyes flicker down once, and he realizes that perhaps he should've put a shirt on before answering the door. Her eyes sweep over his exposed chest again and he decides that maybe it's okay that he slipped up on that.

"Emma Swan?" If she's surprised that he knows her name, she doesn't show it. Of course, if she's showing up, she's probably aware that he's hoarding an absurd amount of her mail.

"Yeah hi. Sorry, you probably have all of the mail that I've been freaking out about for a month."

"And a parcel," he adds. "Come on in." He moves away from the door and wanders over to the table where he's taken to keeping it all.

"There was some kind of weird mix-up. It shouldn't happen again," Emma says as she takes the boxes out of his hands.

"Not a problem, lass. Glad it's all sorted now," Killian comments, suddenly a little sad that something that's become almost a game to him will be ending. The mystery no longer so, and on a purely physical level, very attractive.

"Okay, well. Bye," she stammers, and then she's gone. Killian holds up a hand in farewell when she turns once to look back at the top of the stairs before she descends and walks back out of his life as suddenly as she walked in.

The next day, there are no letters addressed to Emma Swan, and he has to shake himself from what feels a lot like sadness at the loss.

One night, a week or so later, he returns from an abnormally long day at the office with take-out and a six pack in hand. He sees her feet shuffling nervously in front of his door before he sees the rest of her. But even then he knows who his unexpected visitor is.

"You came back," he blurts out and Emma jumps at the sound of his voice. She doesn't say anything, but stares at him. "You haven't gotten any other letters, if that's why you're here."

"Actually, I realized I forgot to say thank you. And I would've just written a card, but I never even asked your name."

"We all have those days, love." They stand there facing each other in the small hallway for another moment, each eyeing up the other and wondering how to proceed. The dig of cardboard into his palm gives Killian an idea of what to do. "Have you eaten yet?" He lifts the bag of food and the beer in offering. Emma shakes her head and sidesteps to let Killian access the door.

"I'm Killian, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Killian."

She follows him into the apartment where they dine on Chinese take-out and toast the mail service with a clink of their bottles.

Two years later, when they're both moving out of their small apartments in favor of a two bedroom that's big enough to fit all their stuff, Killian reminds Emma to change her address, and to not come back with another fiancé in the process. She threatens to make him sleep on the couch for the first night in their new home.


	9. Are You Drunk? (M)

_This one is just bordering on M. Mentions of sexual activities. I am totally updating this from the backseat of my dad's truck as we head for vacation. This one is a tiny update. Tomorrow and Monday's should make up for that. ;)_

* * *

"Are you drunk?"

Emma's not sure why she thinks to ask when his hands are gripping her ass like a lifeline and his lips are mapping out each inch of her neck.

"You've been with me all night, love. I'm sure you'd have noticed if I would've had a single drop of liquor," Killian mumbles against her skin. His head pops back up and her breath is catching at those blue eyes burning into her. "Why do you ask?"

She opens her mouth to respond, but he takes it upon himself to tug her against him using the leverage of her back pockets and she's momentarily speechless again. She clears her throat, tries to clear her mind as he nibbles her ear.

"Oh, you know, just making sure this is like, _real_ and not because either of us are drunk because we're coworkers and just- aren't we missing a few steps in between?" When she finishes speaking, she captures her lower lip with her teeth and stifles a moan, but then Killian's face is in front of her again and he's stopped all his ministrations.

"Swan, are you asking me if we're rushing into this?" As an emphasis to his meaning, his hands squeeze her behind.

"M-maybe," she manages, but this close she can feel his erection pressing into her thigh and her hips move against him of their own accord.

"Emma, look at me," he whispers, and she realizes her eyes have closed with the distraction again. His eyes are intense, but amusement dances in the blue depths, as well. "We have been working together for over a year. In the last two weeks alone, we have gone to dinner six times. We have each paid an equal amount of times. We regularly watch movies at each other's homes, and you've fallen asleep on my shoulder more times than I care to count, and I've adored every minute because every single time I get to hold you while you sleep."

Her thoughts are pushing through a fog of lust, and Emma realizes that Killian is correct. Minus the physical acts, she and Killian have been dating for longer than she can really think. This is the final barrier standing between them, and it all started because he licked his lips when he walked her to her door. She'd gone for it without even thinking twice. They're still pressed against the wall next to her apartment door. She considers another moment before she twists a hand in the front of his shirt and pulls him away from the wall.

"Well? Are you coming inside?" she asks. That's all the prompting he needs, although his hands never move from her back pockets.


	10. Wasn't Supposed to Happen Like That (M)

_Earns an M rating this round. Continuation of yesterday's "Are You Drunk?"_

* * *

"It wasn't supposed to happen like that," Killian gasps out. Emma's hands are trailing across his bare chest and her lips are sucking a mark onto the spot where his shoulder and neck meet.

"Like what?" she asks, but continues moving her lips across his collarbone and he can't quite remember if he was saying something. "What wasn't supposed to happen like that, Killian?" Emma asks again. Her hips push down against his again, and Killian's head drops onto the back of the couch.

" _This_. The whole thing. I meant to take things _slow_ and court you properly. And then you kissed me and everything else-" Emma chooses that moment to strip off her shirt and anything else he has to say is gone because her lips are closing over his again.

Killian honestly has been biding his time with his beautiful coworker. They had a tentative friendship built off long hours in the office, and late night meals. It only took a few of these meals for Killian to realize he was developing feelings for the woman beneath the green eyes and blonde hair, with walls as high as his own. And so he had waited. He took his time inviting Emma to dinners, and suggesting movie nights when they didn't have to be at the office the following morning.

He had planned on making a move eventually, yes, but Emma had stolen the chance when he walked her to her door. His thoughts had wandered to the next time he could see her, whether it was just another day of work or a night in with popcorn and wine and Emma falling asleep on his shoulder. He licked his lips unconsciously, and the next thing he knew she was pushing him against the wall with her lips absolutely fused to his. Not that he could complain. He can't count the amount of times he's thought of a situation just like what happened outside her apartment door.

And now here he is, Emma straddling him and moving against him with the most delicious friction, and her lips are locked with his again. His hands find their way back to her back pockets and he pulls her down again and again, both of them building a rhythm.

" _Killian_ ," Emma moans out and if it's possible, he's somehow more turned on than he just was.

"Bedroom, or..?" Killian's throat feels raw, and the night is still young.

"No, here."

Her hands are everywhere at once after that: unclasping her bra before she shifts in his lap, hastily opening his pants and dipping into his boxers to touch him and he can't even keep up with what's happening. And then his focus pinpoints on Emma's right hand stroking along the shaft of his cock, up and down, _up and down_ , and Killian's jaw clenches. He wants to move, he wants to do _anything_ but he can't. He's powerless under her. He manages to open his eyes enough to see her face, the light shining in her eyes and the smug smile on her lips, and the bloody woman knows _exactly_ what she's doing. She leans forward, her lips against his ear, and even there he can feel her smile against his skin.

"Come on, Killian," comes the husky whisper, and it's like someone's snapped a rubber band inside of him. His face is buried against her neck and her hair surrounds him, and even though he's not pleased at the mess across his stomach and her hand, he can't find it anywhere in his being to be upset at all.

"Bloody minx," he whispers into the curtain of her hair, and he can feel her chuckling.

"I just figured if we got the first one out of the way, we could take our time with the second one."

Killian's groan is lost somewhere in her mouth, mixed with her laughter once more.


	11. How Long Has it Been? (T)

This one is less CS than I usually go for. It still is CS, but CS observed through Mary Margaret's eyes, with a hint of Snowing at the end. AU, one-shot, T for language.

* * *

 ** _How long has it been?:_**

Mary Margaret startles awake and looks at the clock. It's 5:45am, and her alarm clock is not due to chime for hours, so what fresh hell has roused her early? And there it is: a sudden clatter, and a surprised yelp from her roommate. Mary Margaret throws her covers to the other side of her bed and sinks her feet into her slippers, perfectly positioned at the edge of her bed for just this purpose. She's still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes when she wanders into the _very brightly lit_ kitchen to find Emma scrubbing at the metal plates that sit under the burners of their stove. She's sure there's a name for them, but it's not yet 6:00am, so she doesn't really give any fucks what they're called. Instead, she wants to know why Emma seems to be scouring them and whisper-cursing up a storm.

"What are you doing?" Mary Margaret asks calmly, and she suppresses a snicker when Emma jumps about a foot into the air.

" _Shit_ you scared me! I'm cleaning."

"Why are you cleaning, Emma?"

"I clean sometimes."

Mary Margaret levels her with a look that Emma has declared her "Scary Kindergarten Teacher Look" and her friend shrivels a little at the gaze.

"Try again," Mary Margaret intones as she walks over to the coffee pot to start it up. If Emma is cleaning, Mary Margaret's going to need caffeine. And by the looks of it, Emma needs either a full pot to herself or at least seven solid hours of sleep.

"So you remember how that friend of mine just found me on Facebook?" Emma asks, resuming her best efforts to make the brushed nickel of the drip pans ( _that's what they're called!_ ) shine like the day they bought the new stove for the small house they rent. Mary Margaret makes a noise of affirmation and pulls mugs down from the cabinet above the coffee pot. "Well, it turns out he's coming into town for a few days. I haven't seen him in forever, and I'm kind of having a very tiny anxiety attack and need the house to be clean, _every inch of it clean_ , so he doesn't think I turned out to be some slob or something."

Mary Margaret tilts her head and watches Emma's knuckles go white with the force with which she's brandishing her sponge. Mary Margaret just makes a clucking noise, motherly as she is, and nudges Emma out of the way to pull out a Brillo pad from below the sink and hand it to her before once again resuming her coffee duties.

It takes almost a half a mug of coffee for Mary Margaret to really look around the kitchen. Every surface is spotless. The dismantled stove-top and the sink are the only things out of order. Keeping half an eye on Emma, she looks around the corner into their living room to find it sparkling clean.

"Did you run the vacuum?"

"No. Not yet. That's the only thing I couldn't do while you were sleeping."

"Emma, how long have you been cleaning?"

"Well, you went to bed a little after eleven. So, since then," Emma admits, a noise of triumph following this statement when she holds up the now-perfect drip pan. A survey of each common area of their small house reveals much the same. As an afterthought, Mary Margaret goes to the open doorway of the bedroom that Emma occupies to find it in order. In the five years they have lived together, Emma's idea of "in order" and Mary Margaret's have always differed greatly, but this is on her own level. She's no longer shocked when she finds the office that doubles as a guest room ready for company.

Moving back into the kitchen, Mary Margaret finds Emma just finishing up drying the drip pans.

"Okay. Take a deep breath, and move away from the cleaning," Mary Margaret finally says to her. She takes Emma by the shoulders and steers her to sit at the table while she makes up a fresh mug of coffee for herself, and one for Emma. Placing the mug in front of her friend, she sits across from her and looks at Emma expectantly. "Tell me more about this guy."

Emma wraps her hands around the mug and fidgets in her chair. "We were friends in middle school. Totally sweet boy from somewhere in England that moved here with his brother. They moved at the end of our eighth grade year, and I got moved to a different home and school system about a month later, so we completely lost contact."

"So, your little childhood friend. Is he cute? Single? Have any friends? That are also single?"

Emma's chin tips down as she huffs out a laugh, and she finally brings the coffee mug up to take a long sip.

"I don't actually know. It doesn't look like he's had his Facebook long. There aren't any pictures of him on there. Just a couple pictures of a motorcycle and one of the back of his head that one of his friends tagged. So…" Emma's voice trails off as she lifts one shoulder. "No clue, really."

"When's he getting here?" Mary Margaret asks. It's still way too early in the morning, but she's prepared to do whatever Emma needs her to so the girl can get some damn sleep.

"Not until after noon. I'm almost done in here. I just need to clean the bathroom. I was too afraid to go that close to your room for fear of waking you up. Seems like I failed in that department, anyway. Oh! And vacuum."

"You're going to sleep for a couple hours. I'll take care of the bathroom, and finish up the stove." Even while she speaks, Mary Margaret starts preparing her breakfast, but she stops short again when she opens the microwave. "You cleaned the microwave? Did you think he was going to inspect the place, Emma?"

"I'm nervous, okay?!"

She doesn't have to turn around to know that the blonde, normally self-assured and proud, has buried her face in her hands.

"Go sleep. I've got this under control now." She may only be older than Emma by a few months, but she's always had that motherly instinct, and her best friend is no exception to this. She turns back to the table and shoos Emma to her bedroom.

She pushes up the sleeves on her sleep top before picking up where Emma left off, and she's finished less than an hour later. Their little house looks even better than when they moved in, and she nods her head in pride at Emma's efforts, with a sprinkling on her part.

When she wakes Emma up a few hours later, her friend looks much better than when she found her in the kitchen. She ushers Emma off to the bathroom to get cleaned up and sits on her bed while they decide what Emma should be wearing when this friend shows up. Emma describes what the boy she knew looked like, with nearly black hair and blue eyes, the gangly limbs of a teenager in progress, and ears too big for his head. A portion of their time is spent speculating what he'll look like, and Emma guesses that he'll probably look much the same but taller.

They've just settled on a simple outfit of jeans and a sweater when there's a knock on the door. Emma whips out of the room at lightning pace and Mary Margaret trails after her to witness this reunion. When the door opens, Mary Margaret tries to stop her jaw from falling open, but she sees Emma's shoulders droop in disappointment.

"Oh, hello. Can I help you?"

"Swan," says a deep voice. "How long has it been?"

"Holy shit, Killian!"

There's a flurry of movement as Emma launches herself into the very handsome man's arms, and Mary Margaret's whistles low somewhere in the back of her mind. The man they imagined and the one standing in the doorway wrapping his arms around Emma are almost opposites, and Mary Margaret can appreciate a good looking guy. She hears the clearing of a throat behind the embracing couple and moves almost against her will further into the room, curiosity taking over.

Killian jumps at the sound and reluctantly pulls away from Emma's tight hold.

"Apologies, mate," he says to someone just out of sight. He turns back to Emma with a sheepish look while he scratches at a spot behind his ear. "I ah, I hope you don't mind I brought a friend." She can _definitely_ appreciate the man that moves into view. Quickly, Emma darts over and grabs Mary Margaret's arm to pull her over to the two handsome men standing in their entryway.

Introductions go around, and Mary Margaret's hand is clasped last by the man introduced as David, and she's suddenly very glad for the clean house, her carefully applied subtle makeup, and sandy blonde hair and blue eyes.


	12. I Just Want This (M)

**I just want this/Do you ever think we should just stop this?**

The bathroom mirror fogs due to the hot water from Killian's shower, and Emma takes a moment to wipe some of it clear with her hand before attempting to fix the mess that is her hair. The shower was supposed to do that, after it was tangled from his hands, and her own as he fucked her into the mattress. It's not that she's complaining because, _come on_. But the shower didn't help because she had no sooner stepped under the spray when he walked in to grab his toothbrush, and she was dragging him in with her.

Now her hair is not only tangled, it is tangled and _wet_. Killian starts whistling as he finishes up and Emma takes a moment to glare at the reflection of the shower. It is at least partially his fault, after all. Her gaze softens just as quickly, and she turns her attentions to managing her hair while she straightens out her thoughts.

They've been friends for years. They've been sleeping together for only a slightly shorter amount of time. It was a drunken thing that turned into something more like friends with benefits between their relationships and shitty dates. That would be fine, but lately she's noticed that Killian has stopped trying to date all together and she doesn't know how to feel about it.

She gets the very ends of her hair brushed out by the time Killian exits the shower. She watches the reflection of him pushing aside the curtain and grabbing a towel from the rack. Her eyes shift across the exposed expanse of his body, lingering on a couple spots where she can see her efforts were a little more enthusiastic than she may have intended them to be. A hickey sucked onto his hip bone, what very well could be teeth marks on his shoulder, and when he turns to swish the curtain closed again, Emma gasps unintentionally. Those are definitely nail marks on his back.

Killian turns when she makes the noise, eyebrow raised in question but otherwise looking wholly unaffected.

"What is it, love?"

The brush gets forgotten on the counter as she turns and leans against it. She's having a hard time meeting his eyes, and can't stop the blush that's creeping along her cheeks.

"It looks like I mauled you," she says, grimace spreading over her lips as his fingers move over the spot on his hip. It also happens to be next to the tattoo he has there, a dare made during spring break back in college. She vividly remembers scraping her teeth along the outlines of the slightly faded black bird, tasting that patch of flesh while her hand wrapped around his cock until his hips were thrusting off the bed and her name was a feverish plea falling from his lips. She had relented, then, sliding back up his body and rolling a condom on him before sliding on top of him and letting their bodies do the talking from there.

Conversations between them were always handled better with actions instead of words, which is why they are failing to come out of her mouth at this point. Her eyes are still on that tattoo, peeking out just above the line of the towel he's wrapped around his hips, and it takes a moment to process that he's responded to her.

"If I had a problem with it, I'd have said so." He moves to stand in front of her and tilts her chin up, but Emma still avoids looking at him.

"Do you ever think we should just stop this?"

Because she refuses to look at him, she doesn't see when his face falls and his eyes take on that layer of unhappy confusion.

"Is that what you want, Swan?" His voice, normally jovial and carefree after a meeting like this, drops flat. She looks at him, looks into his blue eyes which she has seen look like every shade of the sky in the known world, and probably some unknown as well.

"Why haven't you gone on any dates recently?" There's a flicker of irritation behind his eyes now, and Emma's tempted to laugh. There are few things that actually manage to annoy Killian when it comes to her, but answering a question with a question is definitely one of them, and she usually reserves this tactic when she's trying to get a rise out of him. This time, though, it's purely curiosity that is dictating what she asks.

"Why haven't you?" he asks, a hint of petulance beneath the words.

It's an effort for Emma to remember the last time she went on a date, or even the last time she was interested in a man other than the one standing in front of her. And maybe, she thinks, maybe he isn't the only one to blame for the fact that they've been sneaking off to hotel rooms more often to keep this from their roommates. Maybe it's a lot less about scratching an itch than she thought. About the same time she's having this thought, Emma realizes that he's crowded her back against the vanity and she looks up at him.

"Emma," Killian starts, and his hands find their way to her hips. The heat of his shower-warmed skin through her t-shirt makes her heart beat faster. She's lost for a second when he turns her to face the mirror again, but then he's grabbing the brush and starts drawing it through the tangles and knots in her hair. He's gentler than she ever is with her own hair, and all she can do is close her eyes and let him work. "I just want this."

"Hmm?" She's finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the feeling of his hands in her hair, the smooth movement the brush is making through the still damp strands, the notable absence of it catching on any rough spots sooner than she would've expected.

"I want this, Swan. I want lazy showers and brushing your hair, and necking like teenagers instead of eating breakfast." When she opens her eyes, it's to see his chin propped on her shoulder and a small smile on his lips. She finds a returning grin on her own face as his arms wrap around her waist.

"So, what? You want to be my boyfriend?" The word feels foreign coming from her tongue, the lack of usage in her life in the last couple years making it sound more like a curse word. Killian snorts and buries his nose in the tangle-free strands of her hair.

"Swan, I don't give a damn about labels. I care about you." The statement makes her stomach dip, and she does honestly wonder where along the way they started caring, because she's well aware that he's not the only one in this bathroom that does. "I care about us," he continues, "and whatever that entails. So call it whatever you want, I'm just suggesting we stop pretending that we've not spent more time in this hotel room in the last six months than we have searching for new significant others. What do you say?"

Emma's quiet for a long moment, leaning against his bare chest and running her fingers along his forearms where they're still wrapped around her midsection. When it takes her too long to answer, Killian digs his chin into her shoulder a little, a scruffy reminder that he's genuinely waiting for an answer. She turns her head to look at him instead of their reflection, meeting his gaze head on.

"Fuck it. It's worth a shot."

Killian's laughter echoes around the small bathroom.

"Excellent. Now, what do you say we mess up your hair again so I can brush it out once more?"


	13. Come Home With Me (M)

_Just bordering on M for this one. It also got a bit lengthy because sometimes I can't help myself. In honor of vacation, here is a vacation fic._

* * *

 ** _Come home with me_**

The first time he sees her is at the beach, the early morning sun rays bouncing off a gorgeous mane of gold, the water and her eyes sparkling as she laughs in the waves with her friends. He sits down on the sand and watches for what could be considered too long to be observing a stranger, but he can't help it. He's drawn to the gleeful smile on her face as she splashes in the ocean.

When something swims too close to her beneath the water, she shrieks and laughs and attempts to climb the sandy blonde gentleman next to her, but he just tosses her back into the waves. Shortly after, there's a cry of victory as she and another woman with short brown hair wrestle the guy under the water in retaliation.

He's still planted in the sand by the dunes when they wander out of the ocean and he's not prepared for the expanse of skin he sees, the black bikini leaving her stomach exposed to his wandering eyes. Ever thankful for sunglasses, he tries to keep his focus on the ocean while catching glances of long legs and sandy feet. While he's some distance from her, he can see the effects of sun on her shoulders, pink tinting the creamy skin, and he wonders if she freckles when she tans and how those freckles would taste were he to use his tongue to trace the constellations onto her skin.

It's this thought that finally rouses him from his thoughts, because it is far too early in the day to be dealing with a dirty mind, and he doesn't even know the lass. He tries not to make it a habit to have lewd fantasies about women he's not even acquainted with. With one final peek, he soaks up the sight of her spread across a beach blanket and propped up by her elbows. Her wet hair is piled high on her head with large sunglasses perched on her face which she tilts back to catch as much sunlight as possible. He sighs and looks up and down the stretch of beach, noticing that far more people are gathering as the sun reaches its full height, and he knows it's time to leave.

As he wanders through the access point, he doesn't look back, and thus misses the object of his attentions looking over her shoulder and watching him go.

The next time he sees her, he's at the bar inside the hotel where he's staying for another two weeks. He's not even paying attention to his surroundings, instead sipping his rum and reading over the reports on the new restaurant his fishing company will be supplying if all goes accordingly, and then she's just there. She's leaning over the bar, trying to catch the eye of the leggy brunette tending the bar, who may be a little more occupied with the guy who introduced himself as "Victor" earlier. After another failed wave attempt, Killian leans slightly towards her and speaks up.

"Her name is Ruby, if that'll help," he offers up. The blonde turns her head quickly in his direction when he speaks, and his breath is stolen away by the green that fills his vision.

"Friend of yours?" Her eyebrow goes up with the end of her question, and Killian fights back a smile.

"Not quite. I overheard her loudly introducing herself to this fellow here." He nods his head to the man a few seats down.

He's delighted when his response warrants a smirk and her eyes seem to actually focus on him when she looks back again.

"Yeah? Well, thanks for the tip," she responds, and then she finally gains Ruby's attention. She orders three drinks and Killian contemplates saying something more to her. Before he has a chance, the man that was with her at the beach appears between them and Killian is perceptive enough to notice the implied barrier.

While he's not convinced Prince Charming would actually hurt someone not directly threatening the safety of his friends, the shared look between himself and this guy is one he understands, and he quirks and eyebrow at him before returning to his reports. He's willing to fight for what he wants, he's just smart enough to deal with the woman directly instead of what looks to be her brother. It's as much her choice to speak to him as it is his. So he decides to wait.

Words are exchanged between the two strangers, but he's sure he hears a harsh whisper of "be nice" come from her. He smiles to himself, but attempts to school his features so as to not start trouble. She sends him away with two of the drinks and waits for Ruby to finish mixing hers. When it's in hand, Blondie glances his way and smiles. Killian returns it and winks, a message of understanding and invitation to come chat with him if the chance arises.

He's just finishing his drink and straightening up the paperwork he brought with him when she appears again to order more drinks. This time she calls directly for Ruby to pull her away from conversation with Victor.

"I'll take two more beers, a ginger ale for my lightweight friend, and whatever this gentleman will be having," she says, gesturing to Killian.

"Same?"

He nods at Ruby's question and turns his attention back to his benefactor.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You've been sitting here frowning for the last half hour. Figured you could use it," she says offhandedly. He can't stop the wide grin from spreading across his face.

"So you were watching me?"

"I can take it back." He notices the crease between her eyebrows but there's still a hint of a smile, so he's not in too much trouble for picking on her.

"Apologies, lass. Thank you for the drink."

"No problem. One sec." She grabs one of the beers and the ginger ale when Ruby sets them down and runs off to wherever her friends are seated. She returns just as Ruby slides the tumbler of rum to Killian. "You're not over here working too hard, are ya?"

"Just finished working, actually. Which is the cause behind the face you likely noticed earlier."

"Who works on vacation?"

"Who says I'm on vacation?"

"Touché," she responds quickly. He notices that she hasn't returned to her friends and wonders if he should ask, if it would end her standing here talking to him if he did. When she settles onto the bar stool next to his, he decides to take the chance.

"Won't your friends be missing you?"

"Mary Margaret has probably dragged my brother back to the room for some late night activities that I would rather not think about." She pauses after she says this before looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "I may have bribed her to do that."

He can't quite help the bark of laughter at the unexpected turn in his evening.

Over the next hour and a half, he learns her name is Emma, that she's on vacation with her brother and his fiancée, and that while doors separate the room where David and Mary Margaret are sleeping, it's only because they're staying in a suite so she has no real privacy and neither do they. This whole bribery arrangement worked out for the benefit of all, he decides. He also discovers that her addition to the trip was last minute, that David insisted after she spent too long moping around (reason withheld) that she get out of the city (also withheld) and join them.

He tells her that his name is Killian, and that he's not really on vacation but just conducting business (nature of said business withheld), that he's there for two more weeks, and he's just as happy here as he was back home (location also withheld) because he's just as alone here as he is anywhere else in the world. She doesn't look at him with pity after he says this, she looks at him and understands.

Ten minutes later, she has him pressed up against the wall by the elevator on the floor where her room is located, kissing him senseless and he's wondering if he accidentally drank too much at the bar and passed out, because this could only be a dream. He stays against the wall even after she's whispered goodnight against his lips and wandered halfway down the hall to the door that must be their room. He stifles a laugh when she presses her ear against the door first, then flashes him a smile and a quick wave when her keycard is accepted. When she disappears and the sound of the door closing echoes down the hall, Killian reaches up to touch his lips and turns to fetch the next elevator down three floors to retire to his own room.

He sees her for the tenth time as the first week of his vacation is drawing to a close. They're tucked into one side of a booth in the back of the hotel bar, where David and Mary Margaret have wished them goodnight. Killian and Emma tried not to give each other looks as Mary Margaret explained that they were just too tired, and they wanted to get some sleep before their last full day of vacation. Hearing that was almost enough to put a damper on the whole evening for Killian, but he's making the most of it instead of wondering what will happen once Emma leaves to return to wherever she's from.

But they have tonight, and tomorrow night, and a future unknown, so Killian decides to make the most of it by spending as much time getting to know Emma as he possibly can. As they talk, he begins to suspect Emma has ulterior motives when her hand finds its way to his thigh. She leans a little closer and her hand climbs a little as their conversation continues.

"Bloody hell, Swan," he grits out when her pinky finger hits the top of his inseam. He's almost painfully hard but still refusing to move further. For as much as he's decided to abide by the concept of carpe diem and all that shite, he also knows that the woman next to him is worth more than just a single night. Before her hand can travel any further up, he grabs it and levels her with a look. "This hand of yours is leading me to some rather ungentlemanly thoughts, love."

"I was trying to send a hint." The response comes with a knowing smile.

"I didn't want to be presumptuous."

"Maybe I'm asking you to be presumptuous."

"Come home with me."

"That's the spirit!"

Before he can say another word, Emma is sliding out of the booth and dragging him along. She tempts him to the point that he almost teases her on the elevator, but manages to restrain himself.

This night, even with the smiles on both their faces, feels a lot like the end. So he says goodbye as he takes her up against the door. She says farewell as she rides him on the plush chair at the desk. They both say _I'll be seeing you_ when they fall to the sheets and _fucking_ turns to something that resembles _making love_ even though they've only known each other for a week.

It's the reason he blurts out "Boston" with her head cradled on his shoulder, her body molded against his as they both teeter that edge of sleeping. Her hand only pauses momentarily from its job of drawing indecipherable designs through the hair on his chest. He doesn't look at her, just continues to draw his fingers through her hair, which really is what started this all when it caught the reflections of the ocean and the sun on his very first day here. Her fingers trace their patterns once more and he knows if he concentrates hard enough that he would feel the word that he just said as she spells it against his skin.

Everything else he leaves to fate. There can't be that many Killian Joneses in the universe, but finding someone usually starts with a name and a city. He'll leave the rest up to Emma and chance.


	14. Please Don't Argue (M)

**Bordering on M. Continuation of yesterday's "Come Home with Me"**

* * *

 **Please don't argue:**

He's only been home for a week when he gets a phone call from an unknown number. Of course, it's not exactly the phone call he's been hoping for. It is, but it isn't all the same.

"Hello, am I speaking with Killian Jones?"

"That you are. May I ask who's calling?"

"My name is Belle, and I'm a nurse at Boston General Hospital. We have a patient here named Emma Swan who has you listed as an emergency contact and we need you to come down. Don't panic, Emma's doing fine. Her ankle is broken, though, and she'll need a change of clothes for when she's discharged."

It's been less than a month since he and Emma essentially locked themselves in his hotel room for her last day of vacation. He'd cancelled all meetings for that day and spent it with her, and he wasn't even surprised when he woke late in the evening to find her gone. There was a note on the nightstand simply saying thanks with her name on it. He'd told her he lived in Boston but left the rest up to her. The next two weeks he was in South Carolina were dull and unwanted after his week with Emma.

Now, to hear that she's found him is one thing. He's still trying to process being her emergency contact, and the fact that she's injured. There's no hesitation beyond the moment he stops to think. He grabs some clothes he hopes will fit her. Then shoes go on, keys grabbed, and he's out the door and making his way to the hospital.

The first time Killian sees Emma again, he reaffirms that one night was not enough, and he spends an extra moment catching his breath and swallowing down a hint of panic at the rush of feelings he feels for the woman he only spent one week with. As if finally realizing she's not alone in the room, Emma opens her eyes and finds Killian still standing by the door.

They stare at each other in silence for what seems like an eternity until someone clears their throat just behind Killian. He turns quickly to find a doctor standing behind him and he shuffles out of the way, closer to Emma.

"Hello there, I'm Dr. Whale. Thanks for coming in so quickly, Mr. Jones," the doctor says and extends his hand. Killian shakes it and mumbles out about it not being a problem, glancing back at Emma as he does.

He's still trying to gauge how she feels about all of this, but she just meets him stare for stare, emotions hidden away as Dr. Whale explains that her ankle has a hairline fracture, and she'll need to be off of it for anywhere between four to eight weeks. There's something about crutches or an air cast, rehabilitation, and Killian hopes she's paying attention because he's too focused on her to really hear what the good doctor is saying. He sees her lips twitch into a smirk before she can control her face again, and then he's grinning without restraint. Neither speaks besides confirming they've heard what the doctor has said until he's gone from the room.

"Hello, love," Killian says quietly, and the smile blooms across her whole face.

It's tough to figure out where to go from there. They sit and talk while they wait for the doctor to draw up her release papers, and he finds out she's a bail bondsperson from Cambridge, in Boston proper to trace a skip who tripped her in heels. David and Mary Margaret could come get her, she tells him, but she doesn't want to be a burden to them. Which is why she found Killian (" _Wasn't really that hard"_ ) and jotted down his information on the paperwork. With her release official, she changes into the track pants and t-shirt that Killian brought along and he brings the car around front to pick her up.

"I can check into a hotel until I can figure out what to do."

"Nonsense, Swan, you can stay with me. I have plenty of room and all the time in the world."

"But I-"

"Please don't argue. I will be a perfect gentleman until you see fit to return to your home. And I really don't mind."

She still tries to argue, and calls up Mary Margaret who sides with Killian, but tells Emma that they'll stop down over the weekend to visit and check in on her. Emma tells Killian to shut it when she sees his expression before she directs him to her apartment to pick up provisions.

Mary Margaret and David stop down that weekend, as promised, with homemade cookies in hand.

"They're Emma's favorite," Mary Margaret explains. David stands there considering Killian until he starts to shift from foot to foot, practically sweating under the collar. It's hard for Killian to believe that David is her brother and not her father with the protective gleam in his eyes. Apparently he passes inspection, though, because he gets a firm handshake and a nod of approval when they leave.

He promised to be a gentleman, yet the first time she needs a shower, there's the problem of logistics and how and where and so they tie a bag around the cast and stick her in the tub with an overcompensating amount of bubbles for modesty. She scoots forward and asks him to wash her hair and then makes sounds of contentment, so that most of the bath is carried out while Killian fights an erection.

She ends up naked and covered in bubbles against his body when they're done, and he carries her directly to the bed and crawls between her thighs. Her sounds of contentment are much louder this time.

They spend their free time playing checkers and card games. She talks him into strip poker sometime in the third week of having the cast on, and he doesn't have to go anywhere the next day, so they sip beer and slowly strip as hands are lost. She bites her lip and watches him like an owl watching its prey. He finds himself braced against the table as her head bobs up and down the length of his cock and he swears he sees the stars when he comes with a soft groan and she makes sure to suck him dry.

When the cast comes off, they go on an actual date, and even though she relocates back to her own apartment in Cambridge, he decides he likes spending time out there as well, and so they spend just as much time at her place as they did at his.

It's late one night after they've been officially dating for six months, seven since they met, and Killian runs his fingers through her hair as they sit on her couch. He tells her how it was the first thing he saw, the first thing that drew him to sit and watch her in the waves. Emma chuckles softly, turns to face him as she slides her fingers through his hair.

"I know. I was so busy checking you out that I missed that it was David touching my leg, making me think a fish touched me. I watched you leave the beach, too, and then David dumped sand on me in retaliation for dunking him. I about jumped out of my skin when you spoke to me at the bar," she admits. He smiles and pulls her forward so he can kiss her.

"You know I love you, right?" he asks when he leans back again.

"Yeah," she sighs out. "I know."


	15. I Did a Pregnancy Test (T)

_A/N: Some more continuation of the previous two. I couldn't resist popping back to this universe one more time. Rated T_

* * *

They end up staying at the same hotel where they met when they go back, what feels like ages later. In truth, it's only been two years since Killian spotted Emma in the water and Emma spotted him right back. They like to think they've had what constitutes a fantastic relationship by either of their standards due to the balance of love, friendship, the kind of fights you have when you're in love with someone, and make-up sex.

They are firm believers in make-up sex.

In fact, they've already had make-up sex on this trip, and they've only just arrived.

"For the record," Killian mumbles against her skin, "I am sorry, my love."

Emma wants to be mad or even just pretend she's mad, but when he sounds like that and she knows she overreacted, it's hard to do anything but kiss the closest part of him she can reach (his ear this time) and know he'll take it as forgiveness.

Their position would look odd to anyone else, but to them, it's just one of the thousands of ways they spread out. She's on her back, her hair fanned around her. His head is tucked under her chin in post-coital bliss as their sun cools. He loves listening to her heartbeat go from uncontrollable to its softer resting rhythm, so she just strokes his hair and smiles up at the ceiling.

She thinks of how, in a couple months, he'll be looking at the swell of her belly when he's laying like this, as his son or daughter grows steadily within her. She hasn't told him this, yet, wants to wait for the perfect time. Emma's not even aware she's crying until Killian lifts his head and his look fills with concern.

"Emma, love, I swear I'll get you more ice cream. I really thought you were finished with it." He looks so fraught and shattered that Emma can't help but frame his face in her hands. This isn't _quite_ how she imagined the perfect time going.

"I did a pregnancy test." She leaves it at that. Lets him pit the puzzle pieces together. The weird cravings, the mood swings, swatting him roughly when he grabbed a boob in jest last week, peeing every hour on the hour during the drive down.

"Emma, are you saying…"

"Yep. Doctor confirmed it, too."

Their smiles are beams of light and she damn well knows it. From there, Killian is a flurry of nervous energy. He hops off the bed, still naked, talking about all things baby and swearing up and down that he'll go out _right now_ to get the bloody ice cream.

Emma just chuckles and reclines again, closes her eyes and listens to his nervous pacing. If this is what the pregnancy glow is all about, she is okay with it. Killian clambers back onto the bed and presses his forehead lightly to her stomach and her throat clenches at the gesture.

"You know I love you, right?" he asks, voice thick with emotion.

"I know," she whispers, grin still in place despite the tears that threaten to fall again.

"So right now, how far along is baby Jones? Or would you prefer baby Swan? Or Swan-Jones if you're into the whole hyphenating thing. And, bloody hell, Emma. I had a _plan_ with the beach and the sunrise and everything, but…" when he trails off, Emma realizes that maybe when he jumped off the bed it was for a reason, and maybe she should've paid attention.

They'd never really talked marriage. They'd never talked kids either, but they knew they both wanted them at least. But with their beginnings being so strange, they preferred to just let things fall as they would and were content with that.

Emma secretly had a wedding board on her Pinterest, but she wasn't shoving it in Killian's face. She wonders if he stumbled upon it at some point, though.

"Emma Swan, I know your Pinterest secret," he confirms. "And while we've never really talked about it before, I would be the happiest man in the world if you, now mother of my future child and stealer of my thunder, would forever be my better half."

The ring he pulls from behind his back is the exact one on the wedding board in question and that, combined with his words, has her eyes filling again and she decides she's already sick of her hormones.

"You know I love you, right?" she asks, voice shaky.

"Aye," he responds, grin spread wide on his face. With steady hands, Killian slides the ring onto her finger, and Emma never really figured herself to be a jewelry type, but the ring looks perfect for her. "Oh god," he mutters suddenly.

"What?"

"I didn't have to ask Dave for permission to do this, did I? And he's not going to kill me for putting a bun in the oven before we're married, is he? I don't think he gives a rat's arse about either tradition, but he will just to harass me."

"If he tries, just remind him that their little prince was conceived three weeks before their wedding, and he and Mary Margaret ended up eloping. Now, maybe we should get dressed and get reacquainted with that beach."

"If the lady insists," he says, and leans down to kiss her soundly. "And I'll even buy you more ice cream."


	16. You Know, It's Okay to Cry (T)

**Part 4 of the "Come Home With Me" universe. Very tame. Very G.**

* * *

 **You know, it's okay to cry:**

David gives him another side-long look, and Killian can't help the smug grin that appears this time. It's at least the fourth look of its kind in the last ten minutes. Killian, for his part, is just trying to not fidget where he stands. He doesn't know what's taking them so long, but he's sure if his Swan is keeping him waiting, there's a good reason for it.

Finally, Mary Margaret appears and gives a thumbs up, and then it's time. Killian stands up straighter, if that's even possible, and glances at David. The other man is just smiling now and claps him hard on the back.

"You know," David whispers, "it's okay to cry."

Killian scoffs at this, but then Emma comes into view, and he's not sure David was too far off the mark.

They're staying at the same hotel again, the one where the monumental moments of their lives have taken place. This moment is no different. Killian swallows hard and tries to focus on the sound of the ukulele somewhere off to his right and Mary Margaret walking down the little strip of sand that's acting as the aisle today. She walks past Killian, touching his arm for a moment and smiling brightly, and Killian wouldn't be able to stop the smile that's taken over his face if he tried.

Emma is next to walk forward, and it's like Killian's entire world focuses down to the woman walking towards him. They went simple for the whole event, but even that looks extravagant on Emma. The white dress falls to her knees, the gauzy fabric there tinted blue and fluttering around as if it was made to be in constant movement, a stark contrast to the top of the dress which hugs her from the waist up.

All the little details are absorbed as she makes the short walk through the sand to where their miniscule wedding party is standing. Her hair is braided and crowned around her head. She's holding a simple bouquet of hydrangeas that Emma brought down with her, the blue the same color as the tinting on the dress. She's also wearing pieces of lace across her feet, attached at her toes and her ankles that still leave her feet bare. She looks stunning, and he may have told her that a thousand times in the years they've been together, but he's planning on letting her know every day for the rest of their lives.

Of course, the tiny princess holding Emma's hand holds his heart nearly as much as her mother does. They've dressed Lyla in a similar dress, and her blonde hair is tied up just like her mother's. Her little feet are bare as she toddles her way through the sand, and Killian feels his heart pound faster at the sight of his girls walking towards him.

The ceremony is as short as it is small, nothing but vows and promises, Mary Margaret sniffling behind Emma, David trying to keep his and Mary Margaret's son in check, Lyla wandering between her parents and clinging to whichever leg suits her most at the moment.

The reception is just as small, just dinner in the hotel restaurant, in a small private room. Afterwards, Mary Margaret collects the kids and bids them all goodnight. David leaves a small time later, prepared to help his wife with the childcare duties for the night as the newlyweds spend the night alone.

Killian and Emma spend an hour at the hotel bar, where they're surprised to find Ruby serving their drinks. When they can hardly stand it anymore, they retire to their honeymoon suite, taking in a moment to soak in the silence that comes from someone else taking care of their daughter for the night.

After that slight pause, Killian wraps his arms around Emma's waist and rubs his nose along her exposed neck. He tells her of everything he'd like to do with her over the course of the evening, and Emma's breathy moan indicates that she's totally on board, just as soon as she hangs up her dress and takes off her make-up.

When she gets out of the bathroom, Killian is half-reclined on the bed fast asleep. Emma just smiles and shakes her head before prodding her husband awake long enough to move fully onto the bed.

He wakes up a few hours later and makes it up to her. Three times.


	17. In the Form of a Question (T)

_This is just a tiny thing to get my writing gears moving again. Silly and short, set in the happy places between general Storybrooke craziness. (Also, for any of you who were following for the dirty thirty ficlets, the final two were posted separately as their own fic titled "I Can't Let You Do That")_

* * *

The first time he does it, she thinks it's luck. After all, it's a question about _Peter Pan_ and if anyone, Captain Hook (despite all the inconsistencies in the stories) should be able to get a question about that right.

"When in the Darlings' nursery, Peter Pan attempts to use this to re-attach his shadow," Alex Trebek says on the television.

"Soap," Hook responds immediately. Emma raises an eyebrow at him, even as she hears the echoed answer in the form of a question on the television behind her.

They're scrubbing dishes after dinner while David and Mary Margaret occupy themselves with Neal and Henry.

"You have to answer in the form of a question," Emma replies with a smirk.

"Well, that's bloody stupid," is his only response. They finish washing the dishes as the episode draws to a close and she forgets about it for a while.

It's a few weeks later when it happens again, this time they're sprawled on the couch, exhaustion taking over after another average day (which means not-so-average everywhere else) in Storybrooke. They have the television on to let their brains settle a little before calling it a day and trying to sleep. Henry is at Regina's, the Charmings are all asleep already, and Emma and Hook are enjoying the relative peace as _Jeopardy_ comes on.

"This British queen outlived her husband by thirty-nine years," Mr. Trebek phrases to the participants.

"Who is Queen Victoria?" Hook mumbles, his eyes partially glazed over as he looks beyond the television, his fingers running gently through Emma's hair. She's slumped against his chest, eyes closed to soak in the soothing sensation of his hand. When the answer is repeated on the program, she cracks her eyes open and looks up at him, but his eyes area already closed and his breathing is steady with sleep. She shrugs to herself as she closes her eyes again, snuggling against him to finally get some rest.

The next time they get a chance go even turn on the TV, Hook is a firecracker when it comes to answers.

"An epistolary novel is written in the form of these," from Mr. Trebek.

"What are letters?" from her pirate.

"It's the type of electrical current that travels one way only."

"What is direct current?"

"It's a lady's dressing table, or a synonym for conceit."

"What is vanity?"

Category after category, question after question, and Emma starts to wonder if she can ship him off to the show to make some extra cash, but figures they would probably question his whole existence and that might be a bad idea. But it occurs to her that her fairytale character, pirate, three hundred-year-old boyfriend should not know the answers to all these questions.

"How do you know all this?" she asks when they're sitting at the kitchen table as the show is ending. By her calculations, Hook would've done better than any of the contestants on the show and would've been back for the next episode.

"I spend a lot of time reading," he says dismissively.

"When?"

Hook reaches across the table and gently pries one of her hands from around her mug of hot chocolate, lacing their fingers together and looking at them considering.

"Well, in the infinitesimal spaces of peace we _do_ have, love, a man has to work through his," here he pauses in search of the correct word, "frustrations."

"Oh," Emma says, looking down at their joined hands. And then again, " _Oh!_ "

They both become proficient in the questions offered on _Jeopardy_ over the next several adventures. And one day, after the darkness has been taken from Emma, when they are able to find their quiet moments a little longer than mere minutes, when they're tangled in bed happy and sated and _loved_ , and the television is forgotten from when they got distracted by each other, Hook whispers the answers he knows against her temple and doesn't mind so much if he misses one or two.


	18. Relationship Rules Part 1 (M)

Just pure smut. Set in the mythical timeline of everything being perfect and nothing going wrong, so our lovebirds can do whatever the hell they want to do.

* * *

There was one rule: If the phone rang and it was an important call, Killian was to stop doing whatever he was doing between Emma's legs until the conclusion of the phone call.

Except sometimes, he didn't.

The phone rings, the cheery alert that David is calling blaring out and cutting off the gasps and moans of one Emma Swan as Killian licks and tastes, his fingers dipping into her soft heat in an identical rhythm to the one she sets with her hips. She reaches for the phone with one hand, her other going to Killian's hair to still his progress and he groans in frustration. He lifts his head away reluctantly, resting it on her inner thigh as she finally reaches the phone and answers it.

"Hello?" Then she pauses, listening to whatever David is asking, or saying, or explaining, and he swears to the higher powers that if Dave has just called to chat, he is going to be one unhappy pirate.

She grabs for a pillow, propping up her head as she cradles the phone between her ear and shoulder. Her other hand is still sifting through Killian's hair, so he closes his eyes and listens to the soft murmur coming from her phone, Emma's breathing—much calmer than it was a few moments before, the ticking of the clock on the wall in their bedroom. In his defense, he tries to wait. But after a solid minute of "Uh huh" and "Yeah, okay" responses, he's quickly losing his patience.

It starts with his index finger "accidentally" grazing over her clit and he looks up at her innocently as she peers down at him, wide-eyed and turned on and exasperated. She presses her lips together and hums out a response to something David has just said and Killian takes another chance, turning his head a little to the left to run his teeth along the inside of her thigh. While her grip in his hair tightens, there's no move to pull him away, so he keeps going.

"So I just need to bring the records box down to the station later today, correct?"

He inches his way back up to where he'd been before, tentatively flicking his tongue out to taste. Once again, she doesn't stop him, so he jumps right back to business flattening his tongue over her clit before closing his mouth around it and sucking gently. Her whole body tenses as her breath catches and he glances up to see her holding the phone slightly away from her ear, David's muffled voice a little louder, and her head tilted back on the pillow. He eases a finger back into her, stroking gently to build her back up to where she'd been before the phone rang.

There are even more "Mmhmm" and "Okay" responses than before, Emma's breathing picking up speed as he adds another finger. She's close, rocking her hips against his face and holding her breath for fear of making a sound whilst David is still on the line. He hears a clattering and goes to look up, but she clamps her thighs on either side of his head. Looking up at her from beneath his lashes in the strange position, he can no longer see the talking phone and Emma's hand is still awkwardly raised as if she was trying to catch it before it fell.

"Don't stop," she whispers, so low he almost doesn't hear her, but he moves forward again and resumes with gusto, licking and sucking and nipping until her inner walls tighten around his fingers and her breath whooshes out of her lungs. He eases his motions gradually until her legs fall back to the bed in sated exhaustion and he can look up at her.

From somewhere next to the bed, Killian can hear David's voice.

"Love, you better pick that up before he thinks you were transported to a different realm or sacrificed yourself to the darkness once again," he says quietly. She shakes with quiet laughter and releases the death-grip of his hair to playfully swat at his shoulder.

"You're a terrible person," she says, just as quietly as she twists her body to retrieve the phone.

"Pirate," Killian responds, flopping onto his back as Emma resumes her phone call, apologizing that something must've happened to her phone for a minute there. A few more brush-off responses, and then Emma hits the end button and pinches his side.

"I'm going to get water," she says, sliding off the bed and exiting the room. Killian watches as her glorious nude form retreats and he heaves out a sigh. He hears what can only be attributed as maniacal chuckling as Emma returns with a glass of water. She takes a sip before placing the glass and her phone on the nightstand. He's about to question her when the goofy jingle assigned to David's contact on his phone sounds out and he reaches for the phone.

"Emma said you needed to talk to me about something?" is the first thing the other man says, and Killian glances down just in time to watch Emma crawl up the bed, smirk on her lips and a payback glint in her eyes. He raises an eyebrow, making sure to maintain eye contact with her the whole time.

"Just wanted to chat, mate. How's the family?"

Challenge accepted.


	19. Relationship Rules Part 2 (M)

_I got requests to continue this one. Rated just as M as the last one. Enjoy!_

* * *

 _"Emma said you needed to talk to me about something?" is the first thing the other man says, and Killian glances down just in time to watch Emma crawl up the bed, smirk on her lips and a payback glint in her eyes. He raises an eyebrow, making sure to maintain eye contact with her the whole time._

 _"Just wanted to chat, mate. How's the family?"_

 _Challenge accepted._

* * *

At least she doesn't jump right in. The thought is of little comfort as Killian keeps the phone pressed to his ear as David starts talking about Mary Margaret and the little prince, and how relieved he is that his sweet daughter is back. It's with great effort that he doesn't snort at the phrase "sweet daughter" since said daughter is slithering between his legs and running her short nails along his inner thighs.

It had been interesting, to say the least, to see his love as the Dark One, but partly because of how free it made her. Right now, there's that glint that's never fully vanished, the side of her that lives a little wilder than she did before. As her hands reach the bottom edges of his boxer-briefs (bloody brilliant invention, those are), he tries to keep his breathing even and still pay attention to whatever Dave is blathering on about now—something about the computers at the Sherriff's station being so old, they could've sailed on the _Jolly_ when she was still the _Jewel of the Realm_.

"No offense of course," he adds.

"None taken, mate," Killian responds, thankful that his voice is even and nonchalant. Emma's hands are inching the briefs down now, and she glances up at him, checking to see if he's still in control no doubt. He runs his tongue along the upper row of his teeth and winks at her and is pleased to see her roll her eyes. It's false confidence, because he knows what she can do with that mouth of hers and he's under no illusions that this conversation is going to become difficult sooner rather than later.

And he's correct.

The undergarment is being shimmied down and he lifts his hips to give her better access to remove them, but she takes that opportunity to swipe her tongue across the tip of his erection and he bites back any noise that tries to escape. He jolts back at the contact, briefly shutting his eyes and muttering what he hopes is the right response to whatever has just been said to him. He can see her shoulders shaking with silent laughter and the smirk that flits across her lips is bordering on sinful. The whole situation is beyond that title, but a pirate really can't complain about such matters.

"So it's almost time for the Miner's Day Festival," David tells him.

"I would probably be a little more excited if I knew what that was, Dave."

"Well, it was a thing when we were under the curse and no one had memories, but we decided to keep the tradition going." And then David starts on a long-winded explanation of what Miner's Day is and why it means so much to the whole community, and it's right about the same time that Emma's mouth closes over the tip of his cock and he would be hard pressed to tell you _anything_ about this festival thing, especially after her tongue swirls around and he has to clench his jaw to keep from calling out her name.

Her hand wraps around the base as she continues to focus her attentions on the tip, lips and tongue doing things that he dreamt about before they were ever intimate, her other hand flat against his stomach as he tries to breathe evenly through his nose as his eyes stay trained on her movements. She moves her hand up and down his shaft, gently and leisurely as if they have all the time in the world which, to be fair, it seems they do for the moment. Her other hand is trailing up his chest just so she can drag her nails down over his sternum and he releases a shaky breath.

It continues down over the muscle between his pelvis and hip flexors, what she knows is a particularly sensitive spot on him, and he bites down on his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Somewhere through the watery haze of his mind, he hears David asking for assistance with various tasks for the festival and he hears himself responding that of course he'll help out. Of course he can help man the candle booth. Of course he can help Mary Margaret transport all the food.

Emma shifts between his legs, taking a moment to lick from base to tip before taking him in until her lips hit her fingers and she moans, so soft and low that he _feels_ it more than hears it, but it has the intended effect. David is still talking, now about something he can't actually wrap his mind around, and he is cursing his hand situation because he can't even touch her right now, with his singular hand occupied with the phone. He's too hesitant to try using his empty wrist (the brace is still discarded from sleep) in case it should slip out of place.

His head presses back into the headboard of the bed and he can't help it when his hips twitch forward into her inviting mouth. He closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on not making a peep as her efforts double. Her hand brushes over his thigh and kneecap and he opens his eyes just in time to see that hand disappear back under her own body as she shifts up onto her knees and he knows _exactly_ what she's doing now. She wins, he decides, because he's stumbling over each word that comes out next.

"Listen mate, something's come up. I've gotta come- _go_! I have to go. We can grab a pint later, yeah?"

He doesn't wait for a response. His finger jams down on the button that will end the call before he throws the phone somewhere to his right. And it's good that he did as his orgasm hits and he doesn't have to hold back the groan of pleasure that he's not sure he would've been able to keep in if he was still on the damn phone. With a hand and wrist under her armpits, Killian hauls Emma clear into his lap as he crushes his mouth to hers. She's chuckling, even as her fingers still lazily feather up and down his length as the tides of his climax ebb away. When he breaks the kiss a moment later, he presses his forehead against hers, keeping his eyes closed just a few seconds longer.

"Bloody hell, Swan. You are damn near lethal."

"So, just how many things did you end up volunteering to do for the festival?"

His jaw drops at that statement, and Emma leans back on her haunches to look at the expression on his face.

"You _knew?_ Is that why you did this?" He's not sure he's ever heard his own voice go quite that high-pitched before and in response to the question, she just throws her head back and laughs. He's not at all sorry for the swift slap he issues to her backside, especially when it results in an unbidden moan and she rocks forward against him. It should be physically impossible, but he can feel his cock stirring again and he takes a moment to worship her collarbones.

"You'll be the death of me, love," he murmurs against her skin. But oh, to die _this way_ would be an awfully big adventure.


	20. Evolution of an Oops (T)

_Tumblr prompt for user angelicbeing._

* * *

They meet.

It's in a bar one night, with just the right amount of alcohol and a mutual agreement to find someplace a little quieter to "talk" and get to know each other. It becomes less about talking and more about body language as soon as they're inside her apartment, and they're equally more than okay with the outcome.

She politely kicks him out afterwards after he leaves her with his phone number. She says she'll call. He doubts she will.

They move on.

They both keep going to bars and occasionally take people home, seemingly enjoying the company of others for just a night, leaving well before daybreak each time. They pass each other once or twice and he raises his drink to her as she nods once with one side of her lips tilted up in a knowing smile, before they go back to where they were.

When they cross paths the third time, they end up in bed together again. She stays, and they're both surprised by it. When he wakes in the morning, she's just squinting her eyes open, looking at him in confusion before she realizes that she's wrapped around him. A mumbled apology. A hasty exit. Says she'll text. He knows she won't.

She texts him.

It's been six weeks since he's seen her. He doesn't recognize the number when he gets it, thinks it might be a prank until it rings and he hears Emma's voice on the other line and she repeats "I'm pregnant" as he misses the chair he went to sit in and ends up on the floor.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I don't want or expect anything I just—I thought you should know."

And then she's trying to hang up but he finally finds his voice again and tells her to wait, asks her to go get dinner with him so they can talk about it. She pauses for so long that he's sure she dropped the call until he hears her exhale shakily and agree.

They go to dinner.

They actually talk, for once. They cover some pretty basic getting-to-know-you questions before the food even arrives. Once they've eaten, she shifts nervously and tries to explain how it happened, how it was him because she hadn't actually slept with anyone since their first time, opting instead with making out and hands-on fun.

He admits that while there were a couple promising situations, he wasn't able to get her out of his mind and would leave before he found his own satisfaction with any others.

"Killian," she says shakily. "I'm scared."

Instead of telling her that he is, too, he grabs her hand and squeezes.

"It'll be okay, love."

They start dating.

Which is actually pretty great when they give it a chance. They're aware that it's a little backwards in the order of how things should go, but neither of them have been very good at following rules and orders anyway. He takes pictures of the little bump that appears, taking a new one every week. They pore over every baby book they can find and make extensive lists of name possibilities.

He meets her parents.

He's convinced that no one has ever been more nervous meeting a significant other's parents in the history of time. His palms are sweating and his knees are shaking and David looks at him like he's going to punch him or stab him with his steak knife if he turns around. By the end of the night, David pulls him into a rough hug, clapping him hard on the back as he whispers threats of "If you hurt my princess" and Killian nervously laughs as he promises that he won't.

He moves in.

She has the bigger apartment, but it's not hard for anything to be bigger than the studio he's been living in for the last five years. There's a second bedroom at her place, previously used for storage. He helps her clean it out and turns it into a nursery, painting the walls a yellow that's only slightly less blaring than the lemon color of her car.

He goes out at all hours of the night to get the foods she's craving, quite contently pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt to hunt down whatever strange concoction her hormones insist she eat right away. And every time he comes home ( _Home)_ she smiles brightly and kisses him noisily before snatching the ice cream or corndogs or pickles and orange juice out of his hands.

As their baby grows, they spend time talking to the baby and talking to each other. He reads books to her belly at night as she snuggles deeper into the couch and drifts in and out of sleep. She places headphones over the ever-growing bump and plays their favorite songs and classical music. In one afternoon, he or she may listen to anything ranging from Mozart to Whitesnake, and Emma is perfectly happy with this.

Baby is born.

He's beautiful, with a dark head of hair. Ten fingers, ten toes, wailing and red-faced and angry at the world until he's placed in Emma's arms and she and Killian coo at him, and then he settles in happily.

It's a process. It's an adventure. And when Liam turns a year old, Killian asks Emma to marry him to the tune of "Took you long enough."

And they lived every degree they could between happily and ever and after.


	21. Wanna Bet? (T)

Written for in-spiratonal on tumblr from the prompts "Wanna bet?" and "Wait a minute, are you jealous?"

* * *

"What happened?" he asks as she sits down heavily on the stool next to him.

"Got stood up." She's lying. "You?"

"The girl texted and cancelled right before I got to the restaurant." He's also lying.

"Well, then here we are," Emma says, and she and Killian hold up a finger each to indicate drink orders to the bartender.

Once the drinks are placed in front of them, Emma turns back to him. "Which one was this, the narcoleptic or the warrior princess?"

"Neither," Killian responds as he turns his drink around in his hands. "Firstly, those two ended up _together_. My luck, of course. And the wild child in red apparently decided to settle down."

"Ah, of course," she echoes, and they sip in unison. "So, what's the game tonight?"

"Must there always be a game, love?"

"What else are we gonna do, _mate_? We both had shitty nights. Now I think it's time to find someone for each of us to take home so the evening isn't a complete loss." Emma takes another gulp of her drink, already dreading the thought of who Killian will wind up with tonight. It was a close call that his last one night stand wanted to go on an actual date, and a relief that she seems to be otherwise engaged.

"Sounds like an excellent plan, Swan." Killian also takes a good sip from his drink, terrified that tonight's game will end in a repeat of that bloody Walsh fellow. "I'm sure I'll be out of here in the next couple minutes if that's the case." He's being cocky on purpose, because all he really wants to do is finish his drink and disappear so she'll think he's happily occupied, while instead he goes home to his empty apartment, and an empty bed, to empty a few more bottles of beer to pass his night.

"You're awfully sure of yourself there, buddy." She hates how sure he is of his abilities. She hates that she's going to have to look and talk to another man until she can explain how she's trying to get out of there without some pervert hitting on her while the man she wants to go home with goes home with another woman. It's worked every time in the past. "Is this gonna be a thing? Who has better luck getting lucky?"

"I already know who would win, dear Swan, and that would be me."

"Wanna bet?"

"What are you proposing?"

"Simple wager. We split up for a half hour. Whoever gets more numbers is the winner."

"And what will I be winning from you, love?" His voice is utterly sinful when he asks and Emma wants to blurt out that he can have whatever he wants.

"Winner's choice, to be discussed when the time is up," is what she answers instead.

Winner's choice sounds like wet dreams for weeks to Killian, but he holds out his hand to shake on it before they both pull out their phones to set their timers. With careful precision, they start the clocks at the same time and Killian immediately motions to the girl behind the bar. "Excuse me lass, I can't help but notice your exquisite beauty. Might I acquire your number to give you a call sometime?"

A noise of annoyance escapes Emma, but she hopes he takes it as sore losing that he's already ahead and she pushes off her stool with her drink in hand and determination in her eyes. As soon as she's out of earshot, Killian leans across the bar and motions the bartender closer.

"You're lovely, really, but I am head over heels for that girl that just walked away and fiercely competitive. If you wouldn't mind writing down some numbers on one of those napkins, I would love nothing more than to win this bet and maybe have a chance to express my feelings for her." He watches as the girl's eyes go from confused to that watery, dreamy state from the tale of a bleeding heart, so he thanks her profusely when she hands over the cocktail napkin. With a couple more shoved in his pockets, he wanders through the bar armed with honesty.

Elsewhere, Emma is attempting to turn on charm, although she's not feeling it with any of the guys she's approached so far. She glances around briefly and sees Killian leaning and whispering into the ear of a brunette, watching the curl of the girl's lips as she smiles at whatever he's saying. A spike of jealousy shoots through her and she quickly shifts her glance to find another guy.

They never keep each other far out of sight, but they're running out of options and time and Emma's getting sick of men staring at her tits. With the timer down to thirty seconds, she procures one last number and starts to head back to the bar. The last number calls back to her, though.

"Emma, just another moment. I would love to take you to dinner if you're free sometime." He's not Killian, but maybe that's a good thing. She tells him she'll text him, a genuine smile on her face, and heads back to where Killian is already waiting with a refill for her drink.

"How'd you do, Swan?" There are sixteen fake numbers in his pocket, proving that honesty is a really good policy. At first, he doesn't notice the hints of a smile, or the faraway look in her eyes.

"Twelve," she admits. And then he hears that note of quiet surprise in her voice as she adds, "and possibly a date."

His heart drops into his stomach, maybe even his toes, and he forces himself to knock back his own emotional response with the last of the drink in his hand. "It seems you're the luckiest at getting lucky then."

" _What_? There's no way. How many did you get?"

"Only eleven, including the lovely mistress serving our drinks tonight." He winks at the bartender for good measure, and she sends him a sympathetic smile that lets him know she's heard everything. "What'll your prize be, Swan?"

Emma steeples her fingers in front of her as she thinks. "There are so many options, but I think I'm gonna make you come over and clean my dishes for a week."

"Are you sure that won't interfere with your date? I don't have to do the dishes for some strange bloke as well, do I?"

A response is on the tip of her tongue, but Emma takes a moment to look at Killian instead of saying anything right away. He's staring at his drink with a smile on his face, but she knows him too well. The smile is forced and doesn't quite reach his eyes, and she immediately knows something is off.

"Wait a minute, are you jealous? Are you actually upset that I managed to get more numbers than you?" He doesn't respond, but the smile slowly drops from his face. "Killian, answer me. Are you mad that I won some stupid bet?"

"No, love. I'm just—"

"Actually, he's upset because he just walked around this entire bar getting sixteen numbers by telling every girl that he was hoping to win so he could tell you how he really feels about you. Every number in his pocket is a fake."

Two pairs of surprised eyes look up to see the bartender, but she just places two more drinks down in front of them before smiling and winking at both of them before she moves away again. Neither of them can speak for a moment, Killian in embarrassment as he blushes to the tips of his ears and Emma in astonishment because there's no way this is her life.

"Killian?" she asks quietly, and even in the noisy bar he can hear her crystal clear.

"Yes, love?" He winces at the pet name, not even a conscious decision for him with her most of the time.

"You wanna get out of here?"

He turns his head to look at her and finds her looking back. There's something new behind her eyes, something not shielded by the mask she usually has on, and what he sees is a mirror of his own emotions. He swallows hard and nods, a smile just waiting to break free at the sight of her own.

Synchronized as usual, they tip their drinks back and finish them. It's on their way out that she lets her hand bump his, halfway down the block when she finally grabs it and links their fingers together. Two blocks later, she stops to tug on his shirt and kisses him senseless under a flickering streetlight.

Their games officially stop when he takes her on their first official date.


	22. Truth or Dare? (T)

_Truth or Dare?_

It's probably not a good choice of game to play whilst waiting for friends to show up for dinner, but it's the only thing they seem to settle on. It's also probably not the right voice of game for two people about to enter their thirties, one of which rents the small-but-respectable house where dinner is being hosted for the evening.

Killian is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room next to Emma, beer in hand, pondering his choice. He only has two. It should not be a difficult task. But Emma has a nasty streak of metaphorically hitting below the belt on either option, so no one should really blame him for the hesitation. So far, Emma has admitted that her first concert was, in fact, Hanson. He's known this, but he let the repeat information slide in hopes that he can use it for leverage later if needed.

He's told her that his least favorite vegetable is peas, which made her immediately stand up and go to the kitchen to fuss with something, leading him to believe that a renegotiation of a side dish was necessary for whenever Mary Margaret and David actually show up for dinner.

"Dare," Killian says suddenly, having finally arrived at his complicated decision.

"Text David and accuse him of being late because he's too busy shoving his tongue down Mary Margaret's throat." It's like she didn't even need to think about her answer, already had it planned. He guesses it might have something to do with the fact that the sickeningly adorable couple is now a half hour late, and they're both starving.

"I'll happily agree, on one condition. You let me plan the wording. If I send it to him like that, he'll know you put me up to it."

"Fine. Just no jokes about pillaging and plundering, please and thank you."

He scoffs, because that's decidedly unfair, but he takes a minute to ponder before tapping out a blatant disregard for her statement and sending it along. A small noise of victory as he hits send marks the completion of his task before he sets his phone back off to the side, looking at her expectedly when he's done.

"Okay, okay, I know. I'll take truth again," Emma sighs out.

"You're either playing this awfully safe or incredibly dangerously, Swan." He uncrosses his legs and stretches them out in front of him while he ponders what to ask her. A thousand questions flit through his brain all at once, but what pops out of his mouth surprises them both, he's sure. "Do you ever get jealous of them? Mary Margaret and Dave?" There's a hint of melancholy in his own voice and he can see the confusion on her face.

"Truthfully?" she asks him.\

"Well, that's half the name of the game, love. So yes, truthfully."

She just barely resists rolling her eyes; he can see the amount of effort it takes to not perform her knee-jerk reaction and instead ponder his question.

"Yes and no," she finally admits.

"Swan."

"No really, think about it. They have that whole storybook fairy tale romance going on, and that will never work for me. And then Robin and Regina have that whirlwind roller coaster thing, and I don't think that would work for me either. You and me? We understand each other. If I could find someone like that without it blowing up in my face, I would want it."

When she finishes speaking, she turns away from him and shrugs. It would be so much easier if she wasn't his friend, and his best friend at that. His eyes dart along her profile, from hairline, down her perfect nose, to the adorable cleft in her chin. It's not the first time he's admired this view, and he knows the woman beneath the beautiful exterior is complicated but kind, loving even if she's closed herself off from love. He knows that they've managed to hurt each other in ways that friends sometimes do, usually at a time when romance between them seemed even more possible, thus sending them back to the sidelines to lick their wounds.

With nothing left to say on the matter, and lost in his thoughts, Killian turns his attentions to the bottle in his hands, to picking at the label with intense concentration in hopes that it will somehow solve his problems. He sets it aside with a barely audible sigh and waits for the next round to begin.

"Killian?" He hums acknowledgement to her question. "Truth or dare?" she asks.

"Dare."

It's the fastest he's ever decided in all the times they've played, and the fastest she's ever answered.

Instead of naming her terms, Emma swings around quickly and easily, her knees on either side of his thighs, her hands on his shoulders. His breath catches even though his hands automatically find her hips, a sliver of warm skin under his palm from where her shirt has shimmied up. And she kisses him, a soft press of her lips that quickly switches to a firm press, which then transforms into hungry mouth meeting as she fits herself against him and he wraps his arms around her.

There is no breaking apart in this game, not completely. It's as if years of pent-up _whys_ are finally silenced with one _why not_ whispered on the meeting of their lips. When they separate, it's only so she can bury her hands in his hair while his lips travel the tempting line of her neck.

"Emma," he murmurs along her skin. "You know if we do this—"

"It won't just be a one-time thing. I think we're enough of adults to figure it out, but— _Killian_." Whatever she meant to say is lost in the way he pulls her hips down, grinding her along the half-hardness of his length.

To say they'd forgotten about their dinner guests would be a bit of an understatement, which is why Emma almost topples off Killian when the door flies open and David storms in with an accusing finger ready to go.

"I was _not_ pillaging and plundering Mary Margaret's _anything,_ I'll have you know!" He takes a moment, looks at the precarious position he's just found the two in: Killian's hair is sticking out in every direction, both of his hands planted on Emma's ass, while her hands are caught just touching Killian's belt. Their lips are kiss-swollen, and the confusion clears from Emma's eyes as she looks back at the man under her.

"You said you _wouldn't_ write that! Liar!"

"Couldn't help myself, love," he responds with a cheeky grin.

"What's all this yelling about?" Mary Margaret huffs out as she finally appears through the door, followed by a surprised "Oh!" when she sees what David has stopped to stare at. "Well, we're going to put the wine in the kitchen, and set the table. Right, David?"

An indistinct mumble comes from the other man as Mary Margaret drags him away from the living room to give Emma and Killian a moment.

"To be continued," Emma says against Killian's lips. Her smile when she pulls away is part sweet, part sin, and Killian has every intention of finding out just what comes next.


	23. Q&A (T)

_A/N: canon divergence for the season 3 finale. Written for pompeiiablaze._

* * *

"What are you boys playing?"

 _Game._

"Passing closely, I hope."

 _Set._

"What's wrong Captain, can't hold your rum?"

 _Match._

-x-

Emma knew damn well what she was doing when she loosened the laces at the top of her corset. She knew damn well, because Hook's eyes, _her_ Hook (no, not _her_ Hook, her Hook – the Hook she came here with) was exasperated and jealous of himself, clearly exuding what he thought of her plan to get and capture his past self's attention. He stalked out of the place, temperamental and brooding pirate on the loose, and she practically shoved her chest into Captain Hook's line of sight. Funny thing about that? He stared at her eyes the whole time.

So sure, she knew what she was doing. She had no clue what she was really getting herself into, however. Sitting side by side was fine, that she could handle. She buys a shot for each of them, and it goes down smoothly enough. Thankfully, rum is rum no matter what realm you're in, and she's known this from sips taken from Hook's flask.

This Hook one-ups her, though.

"Next round is on me, lass," he says. He walks up the bar and returns with the whole bottle of rum. One eyebrow raises up, as he's clearly pleased with himself, and she huffs.

"Shut up and pour, Captain."

And so he does.

Hook's head drops back down and he takes a moment to stare into her eyes. It takes all her control not to shift in her seat, to not feel as if she's being scrutinized from the top of her head to her toes. She takes the bottle and pours another round.

"I have a confession to make," Emma says, deciding that if she's going to do this, she's at least going to have fun with it.

"Most women do," he says, and there's the barest hint of exasperation in his voice, as if he's waiting for some version of the other shoe to drop.

"I want to know how you got the hook. You hear so many stories," she flirts, her hand gliding along the metal that she's undoubtedly become familiar with during her time around Killian. It's smooth and cool to the touch, none of which is unfamiliar, even if the man sitting in front of her is still a variation of the one she knows. There's hints of the Hook she first met in this one. It's almost like seeing an old friend, she muses, but still very different than the man that snuck off to find her mother.

"So, you know who I am and yet you haven't even told me your name." He slides along the bench until his knees are pressed against her thigh, until his breath fans over her face as he stares at her lips, and the thought occurs to her that he's probably wondering what her kiss tastes like and technically he already knows.

She panics. She can't tell him her name, and she can't think of one fast enough to give him a fake one. The only thing popping up in her head is Princess Leia for some reason, and that's just not gonna cut it when you're sitting in front of Captain freaking Hook.

"What fun would that be?"

"Just two ships passing in the night then?"

"Passing closely, I hope." She makes sure to smile sweetly as she says it, coquettish, even.

Academy Award winning performance, if she says so herself. She kind of wishes someone was there to witness all of this, and yet she's almost enjoying the time she's spending with Hook.

"Speaking of ships, what do you say we leave this place and I'll show you mine?"

"Wait, have a few drinks first." She uses a hand on his thigh to stop him, the warm leather gliding beneath her fingertips and all Emma can think about is how big of a mistake it was to touch him. Her hand lingers, and with the way he looks at her, she forgets to ever remove it.

She starts pouring again. Emma takes roughly a quarter of the shots either of them measures out, opting to throw the other seventy-five perfect over her shoulder while he isn't looking. As Hook's head tilts back to swallow back the rum, Emma thinks about how her Hook – Killian, she'll just think of him as Killian, and this one as Hook, and that should take care of her own confusion – she thinks about how Killian is doing with his side of the mission, if he's found Snow and set them back on the right path to getting home.

Then he's leveling his eyes with hers again, and she realizes her hand is still on his thigh, and she can feel his muscles twitch beneath her palm. It's tempting, so very tempting, to walk her fingers up the smooth leather, to see just how far she could push the whole façade. She watches as he swallows thickly, as his eyes burn with lust, and _that_ is when she realizes that she may have gotten in over her head. She knows how he kisses, and that's when there were clearly feelings involved. With unrestrained sexual attraction, she's pretty sure he would burn her alive.

The bottle gets tipped again, and Emma hands one off to Hook, whose cheeks get a little pinker as the minutes pass by. She thinks again about the differences between the man who traveled through a portal with her and the one sitting entirely too close to her. He opens his mouth, probably to suggest that their little party be moved to a more private location again, and she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

"What's your favorite color?"

His mouth drops open, clearly not anticipating the question. Hook considers it for a second before answering, a coy smile on his lips the whole time. "The color of the ocean in the morning on a clear day. Second only to the color of your eyes, love."

Everything she knows about Killian is so serious. It's all information that hurts him, that hurt him in the past, that hurts her by association. Emma wonders what else she can glean from him in this time.

"When's your birthday?"

His face scrunches a little, clearly disliking this particular question, or being very unused to hearing it. When Emma remembers that he's somewhere in the triple digits of age, she can suddenly understand why.

"Every day is a pirate's birthday; so why would I bother with just one day to celebrate?" He's lying, but she decides to let it slide.

"Are you ticklish?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he responds teasingly, and the breath backs up into her lungs at the familiar words.

"Perhaps I would," she murmurs, her fingers sliding a little higher up before she can stop herself.

She breaks the intense eye contact to pour another shot, and this one she makes sure to throw over her shoulder as Hook tilts his head back. He looks at her when he sets the miniature tankard down, the rum heavy on his breath as he leans close.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to get me drunk, which is usually my tactic."

She nearly gasps at the playful tap to her nose that he delivers, and holds back the laughter the best she can. Fearsome Captain Hook, indeed.

"What's wrong, Captain? Can't hold your rum?"

"No, not only can I hold it, but I can carry it right out the door. What say we set sail?" With that, he's grabbing the bottle and standing up, and those leather pants are staring her in the face. "Come back with me for a nightcap, or should I find someone else?" He holds his hook out to her, and she considers it for a moment. Killian did say to keep Hook occupied, and she's been laying it on thick this whole time. It's either that she goes back to the ship with him or someone else does, and as she has no idea if Killian made it out of there yet, she needs to keep this going.

There are a lot of things that Emma can't believe have happened in her life. The events after getting back to the _Jolly Roger_ are just the tip of the fucked-up iceberg; Smee spilling that he thought Hook was still below deck, and asking why he keeps changing vests. Getting down the stairs to find Killian on his way out, and then having to throw herself into Hook's arms to keep him occupied so Killian can safely escape. Making out with Captain Hook. _Really_ making out with Captain Hook. Killian knocking himself out in a fit of jealousy and passing it off as a valiant action, because _of course_ he would.

"Are you kidding me? How is _that_ not going to have consequences?" Emma asks, incredulity practically emanating from her pores.

"He was asking for it. And like I said, he blamed the rum."

"And how often did you find yourself waking up on the floor after a night of drinking?"

He looks abashed for a second. "Well – "

"Put yourself in the bed," she demands.

"Swan, we don't have time – "

"You just knocked yourself out cold! Put yourself in the damn bed!"

Amidst much grumbling and exasperated noises, Killian hauls his past self onto the bed, wincing as he knocks his own head against the shelves and unceremoniously dumping himself there. Emma tsks him, and shoos him away, knowing she has to follow quickly but still hesitating following him above deck for just a moment. She moves back to where Hook is sprawled, chest rising and falling in his sleep, the softened expression on his face is reminiscent of the man at the top of the stairs who is quietly calling her name. She brushes some of the hair off his forehead and leans down to kiss it before she can think twice about the action.

"One day, you're going to change for the better. And I promise I'll be there when you do," Emma whispers against his skin. She lets the small smile rest on her face for a moment before she straightens up and heads to the ladder. With one last glance over her shoulder, she climbs above deck and back towards her future.


	24. What Goes Last (M)

_A/N: The most painful thing I have ever written and it's 250 words long. Based on a factoid I read somewhere that hearing is the last sense to go. Dark and depressing. You've been warned._

* * *

They say that when you die, your hearing is the last thing to fade away. Killian doesn't know who "they" are, but he's horrified to find that they are correct.

The last things he feels, other than the excruciating pain he had expected to come with being run through with a sword, is the feeling of Emma's hair under his fingertips. He feels the silken texture of her cheek before his hand falls away. The last thing he sees is her face, tracked with tears and utterly broken.

But his hearing, well, that lasts far longer. It lasts all the way to the ground, where he can tell only by her voice that she's crouched over him. He hears the distress of her cries. He hears the sound of her heart breaking with every whisper of his name, and every choked apology. He hears her sobs, the way her tears fall upon his skin and jacket, each and every attempt she makes to pull herself together, and how she fails and new sobs wrack through her body. Over and over again.

The last thing Killian hears over the sound of the gurney being extended to full height is Emma's inconsolability when he's rolled away from her grasp. The sharp call of her cry, Snow's attempts at comfort reaching his ears as the distance between the shell that was his body is taken away from her, as his descent begins, and then he hears nothing at all for a while.

Nothing at all.


	25. Definitely Time (T)

Emma's surprised, when the word "wedding" is mentioned, that she's not terrified. Not even a tiny little bit. Maybe it helps that it's not her wedding they're talking about, but really, the whole thing seems a lot less scary when you've been to the Underworld.

It's been half a year since they got back, since the monsters drifted back to the shadows and the nightmares faded back to nothing more but dreams. Half a year of surprising peace, although even Emma can tell that everyone has half an eye over their shoulders, just in case. But half a year of living with Killian (and part-time with Henry) in their house. Six months of dish duty and laundry, of lazy Sunday morning sex and quickies when they know they're supposed to be somewhere else. One hundred and seventy-five days without scarring Henry for life, and they are damn proud of their track record.

The happy couple opted for a simple wedding affair, skipping over the church and the runner, the flowers on the end of each pew, the giant white dress and tuxedo rentals and a thousand tiny details to be stressed over _ad nauseum_. Instead, Robin and Regina chose the park (as far away from the hellmouth as possible) for the ceremony, everyone invited to attend if they wanted to, no RSVP needed. Somehow, Regina thought her former title of Evil Queen would scare off most of the attendees, but there's something to be said for a town that has been dragged to hell and back (almost literally) and making it out relatively unscathed.

Set-up is complete by 12:30pm, with the nuptials due to start at 1:30pm. At 1:00pm, Regina peers out of a tent they set up to keep some element of mystery for her reveal, and she looks a little shocked to see almost the entire town gathered. They'd set up a modest amount of chairs, and those are filled, with everyone else standing around and mingling while they wait. With a smile she tries to hide, Regina extracts one hand from the tent flap and waves it around, conjuring more chairs for the rest of the guests to sit in, and they all happily flock to the extra seating.

Emma and Mary Margaret precede her out of the tent. They aren't exactly bridesmaids, just like David and Killian are not exactly groomsmen, but the four of them attend to the bride and groom, lending a helping hand and then sitting back to watch the ceremony take place. Everyone is beyond delighted as Roland acts as their ring bearer. His tiny suit still doesn't fit quite right, but he smiles his dimpled smile at everyone he passes, carrying the tiny pillow with the rings up to his father and proudly presenting them.

Regina and Robin exchange their vows in front of the townspeople, promising to love each other in sickness and in health, through good curses and through bad, through every battle, and every single moment of peace. When they kiss to seal it, the town applauds and the newlyweds beam.

Just like the ceremony wasn't really a ceremony, the reception isn't really a reception. Everyone flocks in and out of Granny's all throughout the rest of the day, wishing the happy couple luck and sharing in the dancing.

So far throughout the day, Emma has had no problem wearing her dress. It helps that Regina just told them to go find dresses they felt comfortable in, as she herself wore something she felt amazing in rather than angling for the traditional white. Emma's is long, just short of brushing the ground, with a beaded accent along her waist but otherwise unadorned. The fabric is soft to the touch, and the slit at the front captures Killian's gaze all through the course of the day, and she doesn't mind one bit.

He's sitting at the bar when she finally collapses after numerous dances with her father. He slides a tumbler of rum towards her as he sips from his own, chuckling when she almost slides from the stool she's perched on as she attempts to wrench her heels from her feet. She's been contemplating for hours whether or not there's magic to make them hurt less, but so far nothing inspirational has come forth. She goes to place the shoes on the counter, but Killian catches the strap on his hook before they touch, shooting her a glance and nodding towards Granny and smiling affectionately at Emma.

She returns the smile easily and runs her hand over the lapel of his suit jacket. He looks good. Like, _damn_ good, if she says so herself. She leans over to kiss his cheek, all the while whispering exactly what they'll do to each other as soon as the typical reception festivities have drawn to a close. Killian regulates his breathing, shooting her heated gazes as he considers her suggestions.

"I guess I'm stuck barefoot until we head back. Although I think at this point the only way I'm putting those damn shoes back on is if magic is involved."

Killian chuckles and reaches into a pocket on the inside of his jacket, producing a pair of satin slippers and placing them on the bar next to her elbow.

"I had a hunch. Figured I would bring them along in case your feet were in peril at any point in the festivities. Although, you've made it much longer than I thought you would."

"You are just – you just – Listen here Mr. Hook, we are going to have an excellent time after we leave here. Just let me do this stupid bouquet toss so I can make my mother happy and then we'll get out of here, okay?"

"Aye, I'll be waiting just over there for you, love." With that, Killian wanders to the other side of the gathering of female wedding attendees. He fiddles with his phone, Emma's heels dangling from his hook, barely paying attention to those around him as he leans against the wall next to the door.

He's not quite sure what happens next, just that there's suddenly a bouquet of flowers smacking him in the face and dropping into his arms. He hears the whoops and whistles of those in the diner, looks up to see Emma laughing and Regina looking smug. He can feel the tips of his ears go red with all the attention turned on him, as he has no idea what the customary response to this gesture would be, but Emma looks pleased and that's all that really matters to him.

They say their goodnights shortly after, Emma ruffling Henry's hair even as he protests and scoffs. His teenage senses are showing, and Emma and Regina exchange a look before they both lick their thumbs and go after his face, causing a look of horror on the boy's face before it disintegrates into laughter.

Emma still makes sure one last time with Snow that Henry staying at the loft won't be a problem for an evening, and she assures her daughter yet again that it'll be fine, that they're always happy to have him over before shooing Emma back to Killian's side and bidding them goodnight.

Their walk back to the house is quiet and leisurely.

The way they talk about marriage later that night after their passion is temporarily quenched is much the same.

And when Killian officially slips the ring on her finger (again, it's not like she hasn't been wearing it for months anyway) and calls it an engagement, it follows suit.

Emma snorts with laughter, breaking the tranquility, and he has to wait an extraordinarily long time for her to explain the meaning of catching the flowers at the diner, about how it signifies the next in line to be married, and he guesses that was all the hint they needed from the universe and all the realms that it's definitely time.


	26. Nevers (T)

On opposite sides of a lavish pool, Emma Swan and Killian Jones are grousing to their respective circles about how they will never get married, like, ever. Never.

"Never," they say at the same exact time, while Ruby and Belle nod in agreement around Emma, and August and Will grunt their sentiments in Killian's direction.

A half hour later, Emma meets Killian when he runs into her. Killian meets Emma when her beer sloshes out of her cup and all the way down his front.

A half hour later, they're making out in the pool house.

A half hour later, Emma is sliding Killian's phone back in his pocket, her number saved with beer and heart emojis, matching fuckstruck looks on their faces.

A half year later, they're still together and Killian isn't sure he can live without Emma by his side for all the rest of his days, and suddenly it seems like a good time to change that verdict of "never."

-x-

Killian Jones and Emma Swan never saw themselves as the marrying types, but here Killian is in a store they'd perused a few weeks ago, waiting for the salesman to bring back his credit card, and the ring. Oh god, _the ring_. The ring is beautiful, and everything Emma's eyes shone brightest at when they'd happened to walk by that day.

One day short of one year together, Killian is standing in that shop while Emma is at work, buying a ring. _The_ ring, that he will use to ask Emma to marry him, and _oh god_.

"I'm gonna pass out. Or be sick. Does this happen often?"

"More often than you'd think," the portly gentleman reassures him.

"Bloody hell."

"You love her. She loves you. That's the bottom line."

Killian Jones never ever imagined he would get married, but he signs the receipt and walks out of the jewelry store without looking back, all intentions pointing towards going to find Emma right that moment, because he can't wait another minute.

-x-

He barges into the sheriff's station where she's on duty and he barely has the question out when she says yes.

-x-

They were kind of hoping for a honeymoon upgrade, but it's okay that they didn't get one. It's okay that they're crammed together in the coach section of the plane that will be the first leg of their journey to Hawaii for their honeymoon. Their hands are clasped together, Emma's engagement and wedding bands glinting in the low light of the plane.

Behind her, a baby is screaming its head off while they reach altitude, the parents already profusely apologizing to every person on the plane. Killian, on the other hand, is in front of their older child, who has taken to kicking the ever-living-shit out of the back of his chair. _For an hour_. The parents are so concerned trying to keep the baby from fussing that they just don't even seem to notice the other child's behavior.

"We are never having kids," Killian says to Emma as a wave of nausea comes over him.

"Nope," Emma agrees, shaking her head and slightly surprised that she even heard him, because she's fairly certain she's deaf in at least one ear by this point.

-x-

When Emma goes into labor, Killian is utterly surprised at the fact that she hasn't tried to swing on him. For one, it's a little his fault, seeing as he's one half of the reason they are in the hospital whilst Emma gives birth to their baby boy. For another thing, he's been trying to keep her steady and breathing the whole time, and he's even sick of the sound of his voice so he can only imagine what she must be feeling.

Instead, she just cusses a little more, clutching his hand almost hard enough to break it and working through the current contraction.

Baby Jones is born seven hours later, healthy with all fingers and toes, and they smile down at their perfect little creation, although neither of them have any fucking clue what to call him yet.

-x-

"We are never moving to the suburbs," Killian states proudly. They're sitting around the kitchen table in their loft apartment in the city, the sun streaming in and lighting the whole room perfectly as it's always done at dinner. Liam is in his high chair, Emma making airplane noises while trying to get him to eat peas. He smacks the spoon, sending the little green spheres in every direction.

"Liam David," Emma sighs out, but he crows in delight and she can't help but just smile and start the process of cleaning up. Killian stoops down to help, as well, and they meet somewhere under the table as another round of peas comes raining down on them and Emma admits, "I love this place."

She kisses him firmly and resurfaces to wrestle the peas off their son while Killian keeps cleaning.

-x-

"Never" moving soon changes, as they drive into the suburbs one day to visit David and Mary Margaret and their little son Leo, and a house catches their eyes at the same exact time. It's bigger than they need for just the three of them, but it has a beautiful front porch and Victorian architecture and they _can_ afford it, but does it mean that they _should_.

"We shouldn't," Emma says as she dials to get an appointment to see the house.

"Not at all," Killian agrees as he checks out the driveway/garage situation. He pictures filling the house with more furniture, a bigger bed for him and Emma, an entire castle façade for their little prince's playroom.

They make an offer an hour after they've walked through all the rooms, ideas and imaginations running wild.

They move in a month later.

-x-

It's a beautiful summer morning, and the Swan-Jones family is being particularly domestic. Emma is playing with Liam in the front yard while Killian waters the plants in front of their house. It's been a good year that they've spent there so far, and Killian can't complain. He still has his shiny car; Emma still has her practical one. They switch off when the other needs a break and Emma wants something that doesn't feel so… mom-ish.

A minivan packed to the brim with screaming kids passes by the house and Killian turns his head to watch it, nodding in its direction as it goes.

"We are never getting one of those," he says resolutely. He has no desire to ever drive such a beast and Emma nods in wide-eyed horror as it disappears down the street.

"Never," she echoes, and their morning continues.

-x-

When Killian gets rear-ended by a teenager in an ancient boat of a car, thanks to the teenager's decision that texting was far more important than watching where he was going, he's just as crushed as the back of his vehicle.

The rental they give him is a minivan, and he about faints when he first sees it in the lot.

After two weeks of driving around, he and Emma are fighting over which one of them gets to drive it because it turns out everything is _so much easier_ to cart around when they have _so much more room_.

The minivan they ultimately end up purchasing is sleeker than the rental, but there's still a part of Killian that realizes and accepts that he's currently washing a _motherfucking minivan_ and he wonders at how far their "nevers" have fallen. He sighs, but gets back to work, smiling a little as he goes because it's his turn to drive it this week.

-x-

Whoever bought Liam finger paints for his second birthday is going to receive a rather nasty surprise on their front stoop when Killian has a chance. Emma is flitting around the house, cleaning up while Liam naps. They move in super-speeds on weekends when he's asleep because it's the only time they can clean without him immediately adding fingerprints to something, or spilling a drink, or deciding to play pirate ship with every cushion in the living room.

While Emma rounds up the last of the laundry, Killian scrubs the paint, marker, crayon, and _is that bloody peanut butter?_ off the wall at the bottom of the staircase. He swears the little lad was unsupervised for less than a minute, so he would love to know how he managed to do this amount of damage in that amount of time. Little pirate, indeed.

He can hear Emma jogging lightly down the stairs. "We are never having another kid," he tells her as he drops the sponge into the bucket to his right.

Emma barely pauses as she carries a light basket to the laundry room, calling over her shoulder as she goes, "I'm pregnant!"

Killian stays crouched in shock for just another moment before he's hurrying after her to scoop her into his arms, kissing her senseless and breathless and taking her back to bed _(quietly)_ in celebration.

-x-

It's late, but not too late, and Killian sits easily on the couch with the lights dimmed low. Emma is curled against his side, with Liam pressed tight in the space between them. He's growing like a weed, and his hair looks eerily similar to his namesake uncle's, all curly brown with Emma's green eyes shut as he slumbers peacefully.

On his other side, their daughter Eva shifts a little in her light sleep. She peeks her eyes open briefly, blue meeting blue, before she's out blonde hair looks just like Emma's, and he marvels at his little family.

The television is on, but Killian isn't paying attention to it, instead preferring to look at the tops of the heads of the three surrounding him.

"I am never letting go," he whispers, one hand on the small back of his tiny daughter and the other rubbing along Emma's hairline on her neck as she drifts in and out of sleep.

This is one "never" he knows he can stick to.


	27. Don't Marry Her (T)

When she sees Killian again for the first time, Emma is attending the engagement party of her long-time friends, Mary Margaret and David. She hasn't seen Killian in almost six months, after she made the mistake of sleeping with him (by far the best night of her life). She promptly ran as soon as she woke up, while Killian was still asleep in his bed (by far the worst morning of her life).

It took her just one week to realize how much she screwed up when she ran, but she couldn't go back. She couldn't face him again after that disaster of an encounter. So despite their closeness, she just kept running.

Through her job as a bail bondsperson, she took jobs that were farther and farther away, using the job that originally brought her to Storybrooke and her friends and Killian as an excuse to get away from them. She kept in contact with the ones who mattered, let them know when she was back for a quick day or two in that very long stretch of time to see the ones she could.

No one brought up Killian around her, and she didn't bring up Killian around them, and although it was a stab in the heart every single time she stopped into town, she still preferred to call it her home over every other place she'd ever been.

Now, a half of a year later, here she is on a planned trip back just a few weeks after Mary Margaret had called her in happy hysterics to break the good news. She was elated for her friends, knew that the sweet woman sniffling on the other end of the phone and David were meant to be from the first moment she met them, but there was a pull in her gut at the thought that they were going to be getting married.

"Is uh," Emma croaks out, and she hadn't really meant to ask but she's already begun, so she has to go through with it now. "Is Killian going to be there?"

"Of course he is. He's David's best man. And Emma, I know how difficult this is going to be, but I want you to be my maid of honor. I swear you don't need to interact with him if you don't want to. I don't know what he did to hurt you so much, but David and I want you both to be part of our big day, and I believe in my heart that you two can work around each other for this."

It was a shock to hear Mary Margaret say that Killian hurt her, as she had never indicated one way or the other what had happened, but apparently Killian hadn't either.

"Mary Margaret, he didn't hurt me. If anyone is to blame, it's me."

"Oh! I just assumed… He kept saying for so long that he needed to apologize to you. And then he just, stopped mentioning it."

On her end of the phone, Emma had closed her eyes, trying to even think of what she should do next.

She never came to any conclusion, and now she's squinting into the dim lighting of Granny's, decked out to host the special event. She's anxious in so many ways and hoping to find David and Mary Margaret amongst the people all milling about. She's excited to see them, and to see the other friends that she's made and maintained in this town, but she's terrified to see Killian. She takes a moment first to take in the transformed diner, the twinkle lights strung along the patio outside and even lining the ceiling tiles inside. There are mason jars on all the tables, glitter visible by the tea lights burning inside, making it seem as if the stars are in attendance just for the happy couple.

She braces herself to see him, to see the anger or hatred on his face when he catches sight of her, so she's floored when she spots him first with an unfamiliar blonde on his arm. This woman pats his arm affectionately as he leans down to say something to her, and it's that motion that reveals the ring glinting in the low light of the jar closest to her.

Emma does her best to not swallow her tongue, but it's a close call. She ducks toward the bar before he can spot her. Alcohol is one of those things that needs to be in the 'requirements' column for the rest of the evening.

It's a hard feat, keeping herself as far as she can from Killian at all times. The blonde woman disappears from his side every once in a while, but always returns, her affections open and easy with him, and the smile on his face shows his love for the one beside him, and she briefly wonders if he would've looked at her like that before she decides to drown those feelings with as much alcohol as she can.

The back hallway is thankfully deserted, so Emma spends a healthy amount of time skulking back there. Of course, it was too good to last, and the person she's been trying to ditch comes around the corner, the smile dropped off his face to be replaced with utter shock when he spots her. She can't move, can't scuttle away fast enough, can't escape as his mouth opens and closes several times as he attempts to speak.

"Swan," he finally says. Just her name. And that's all it apparently takes for her to reach for his hand, gently placing her other hand on his forearm above where he's missing his left hand. She's never seen his as anything other than whole, so the gesture comes naturally to her.

"Killian, don't marry her," Emma says in a hurry. "I love you. I am completely and utterly in love with you. Don't get married. I never should've left that day and I have never stopped thinking of you and," and she keeps going, all of the words spilling out on top of each other as she collapses against him. He holds her fast, tight, whispering comforting words against her temple as he rubs his hand up and down her back to soothe her.

"Darling, you are more intoxicated than I've ever seen you. Let's go get you some water so I might understand what you're trying to say."

"You were never just my friend," she finally spits out, reaching up to wipe roughly at her cheeks.

His expression is gob smacked, but he's smiling, and he's just about to say something to her when there's a tentative voice from behind her.

"Killian? Is everything all right?"

Turning, Emma sees the woman that's been with him all evening, and she immediately shifts to extract herself from his arms. "I'm so sorry," she mumbles as she does, but Killian tightens his grip.

"Emma, I'd like to introduce you to _Liam's_ fiancée, Tink. Tink, this is Emma. Liam is in the process of getting the rest of their belongings shipped over here, so he couldn't get back here in time. Since Tink is new to town, I've been introducing her to everyone."

"Oh, so _you're_ Emma. I was hoping I would get to meet you. I've heard so much about you!" The petite blonde comes forward, clasping one of Emma's hands where it's still gripping the front of Killian's shirt. "It's so wonderful to meet you. I hope we'll get to sit down and get to know each other soon while you're in town."

All Emma can really do is nod, sniffling as discreetly as she can and using her free hand to wipe another stray tear from her cheek. Tink and Killian share a significant look, before Tink pats her hand one more time and turns toward the restroom.

"Why don't we go get you that water, love. And you can tell me about all the places you've been, and how much you've missed me, and tell me again that you love me so I might have a chance to say it back this time." His grinning in that infuriatingly attractive way, his eyebrow jumping up at the joke and –

"Wait. You love me, too?"

"Aye. And the fact that you didn't know that before you ran away from me shows me that I didn't tell you clearly enough. I'd like very much to make that up to you if you'll let me, Swan."

She nods, the last of her sniffling finally coming to an end as she tentatively smiles up at him.

A year later, at Mary Margaret and David's wedding, she catches the bouquet as the next in line to officially join the Jones clan.


	28. Why Are You Bleeding? (T)

In her defense, she doesn't notice at first because he greets her with a kiss. Not just any kiss, one of those kisses that they write stupid poetry about. The kind that makes her weak in the knees (made worse by the fact that he picks her up when he does it, so she feels weightless and wobbly all at once) and the kind where her stomach makes that awkward flip-flop, swoopy thing that makes her want to giggle like a child (and she can count the amount of times she's giggled in her adulthood on one hand, so that's saying something).

She doesn't notice because while it's not their first kiss, the ones previous to this one have been timid, or quick. This one has his tongue tracing along her bottom lip, his arms braced just below her ass to keep her suspended above him as long as possible, her hands wound around his neck in a tight grip, one hand stroking along his jaw and curling back to ball up beneath his ear.

It's not their first kiss, and it certainly isn't going to be their last, but there's a tinge of desperation and relief below the surface of it. There's the way he is holding on just so tight, and when he eventually lowers her back to her feet, he still doesn't let go completely, and the smile on his face when they finally pull away is one of contentment, mixed with something that's bordering on fading fear.

So when she _does_ notice, the cut relatively small and dripping blood down his forehead from under the hair that falls perfectly over that spot, down his temple and continuing down his cheek, he has to grab her hands in his and try to hush her before she starts.

"Why the _hell_ are you bleeding?!"

"Well, it's a funny story, love."

"I sent you to the corner store for cotton balls?" Yes, it's a question, because she cannot figure out how he managed to split open his head in a half-block walk.

"So there was this dog running across the street," Killian starts with. Emma rolls her eyes, dragging him by the hand to the bathroom to find the liquid bandage.


	29. 4AM (T)

He's alarmed for about a minute. Just a minute, when he hears the thumping out in his living room. The heavy sound of someone falling to the floor jars him from his insomnia-inspired reading binge until he hears the feminine voice, the low swearing that would put the finest sailor to shame, the tell-tale thump of a leather jacket falling heavily to the floor. He sighs, shoving his bookmark into place and hiding away his reading glasses before he climbs out of bed and goes to inspect what his neighbor has gotten up to, this time.

Emma Swan is the hardest nut to crack that he's ever met, the woman as stubborn as they come, and all he's ever longed for is friendship, but she's refused even the smallest of friendly inquiries from him: a warm hello at the mailbox bank in the apartment entryway, an invitation to eat pizza and drink beer and watch the program or movie of her choice, a polite inquiry as to her favorite ice cream so he could potentially leave a pint of it outside her door after he's noticed the rough-day-door-slam. None have worked, ever.

So it's a little alarming/surprising that she's in his living room, her red leather jacket now thrown over the back of his couch, her eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the room until he suddenly flicks on the overhead light.

"Swan, what a lovely surprise," he says, the even tone to his voice not belying the utter incredulity he's currently experiencing. "What brings you around at this fine witching hour, plus one?"

"You told me you'd buy me ice cream when I had a bad day," she says, a slight sway in her stance, and without having to go closer, he knows she's drunk. "I had a bad day. I need the ice cream."

"Who crawls through someone's window at four in the bloody morning for ice cream?" he asks, because it's all a little more than his mind can handle. Especially when he notices that she's in heels that could kill with the right puncture location, a tight dress that looks like it's had a fight with a pair of scissors, and she's more dolled up than he's ever seen her. He prefers her natural look, her hair falling in soft, fresh-washed waves instead of the thick curls that fall around her shoulders.

Her jaw drops, and she seems to realize she's just hanging out in the middle of his living room, because she starts backing up to leave – towards the window, of course. She might be too intoxicated to realize she could leave through the front door.

Killian stops her before she can get too far, a gentle hand guiding her by the elbow to head back towards the kitchen. "Please, Swan. Come join me for some late-night ice cream. I'd love to hear the story behind that get-up and your lack of sobriety before you take your leave for the evening."

She looks like she's about to bolt, but the fight drains from her limbs the moment he ushers her to sit at the table.

Over the next hour, he hears all about her job as a bail bondsperson, how her night went sour, how she would probably still be locked up in her own apartment if she weren't just a little too drunk and ice cream sounded a little too good, at least four apologies for how high her walls are, and for breaking into his apartment via the living room window.

When he tucks her in on the couch just as the sun is rising, he promises to forget it all if she bolts before he wakes up, but she shakes her head, a sleepy smile fighting through the total exhaustion. "Remind me that I owe you ice cream," she says, and she nods off shortly after.

He wakes up to a knock on his window, with a freshly-showered Emma on the other side, to-go cups of coffee in one hand and a bag with fresh pints of ice cream in the other.


	30. Partners (T)

"I can't watch you with someone else," Emma whispers darkly. "It's tearing me apart!"

Killian has been waiting too long to hear her say such things, but perhaps under different circumstances. They're side by side at the high-topped table their group has been congregating around all night in the bar. He watches as the next dart from David sails across the space in front of them, landing in the triple 20, and he grunts in frustration. Usually, he and Emma clean up anyone that dares to challenge them, but they've been challenged to play on different teams for the night, and it's not going well.

Mary Margaret, his partner for this particular game, walks to the line and clicks her heels once. They all have their quirks. She clicks her left heel to her right heel when she gets up to the line, Killian tightens the flights on his darts as he positions his feet, David has to line up his sight no less than three times each time, and Emma chucks the darts at the board as hard as she can and still somehow never misses. Until now, that is.

David is marking Mary Margaret's score on the board, giving her a quick kiss while she collects her darts from the board, and Emma groans as she goes back to the line. This time, she pauses to actually aim, but her darts go into the single score of 11, the rim of the board, and one embeds into the light cover above the board itself.

She swears harshly under her breath while she stalks forward to extract her darts. While she struggles to reach the one in the light cover, Killian walks up behind her to assist and ends up pressed against her back. They both freeze, his free hand resting on her bicep, his nose momentarily buried in her hair which smells a thousand times more amazing than anything else in the bar.

His hand closes around her dart, but she's turned in the space between him and the board, and she's suddenly surging up to kiss him, the two darts in her hand clattering to the floor as she yanks him closer by the collar of his flannel shirt.

It's over nearly as fast as it started, and he numbly hands over the dart in his hand. No one else even seems to be aware of what's just happened, and Killian almost wonders if it happened at all for a moment.

"Captain Swan is reunited next game," she tells him sternly, and he can only nod and idly lick his lips.

When he steps up to the line, he tightens his flights again, but can't help but feel like he's already hit the bullseye.


	31. A Different Kind of Team Building (T)

_A/N: Not quite smutty, but just enough mentioned at the end that if you don't want to read that, here's the heads up._

* * *

"Why did I let you drag me here?" If Emma's a little grumbly, it's probably because, in Killian's desire for thrills, he's dragged her along to a haunted lodge to spend the night. Well, supposedly haunted. Emma doesn't really believe in any of that shit, and no, she did _not_ just jump when a curtain blowing in the light breeze brushed against her arm.

"Where's your sense of adventure, Swan?"

"Killian, you dragged us to this abandoned lodge in the middle of nowhere. They make movies about these kinds of stories, and they don't exactly have happy endings."

He gives her a look at that, raising an eyebrow as if to tell her she's being ridiculous before moving on through to the next room.

Killian is in his glory. He's practically sprinting through each room, inspecting every nook and cranny that he can in hopes of, she doesn't know, finding a ghost lurking in a corner looking for a chat? She honestly has no idea anymore. She just wants him to stand still or slow down a little so she can catch up, and if that means that she wants him within arm's reach, then that's her business.

"Nothing can happen to us here. It's just an old building with dusty shelves."

"Sure. You're right, nothing bad could ever happen here," she deadpans, sighing and following as they traipse upstairs.

They're stuck here for the whole night, some touristy gimmick promoted on a billboard along coastal Maine. They're supposed to be going to a little town called Storybrooke for a work retreat, but upon seeing the sign, Killian suddenly veered off the freeway at the marked exit and proposed that they _just have to, Swan. It'll be fun._

Sure, it'll be fun if "fun" means staying in a creepy old lodge with Edison bulbs burning at the lowest possible wattage, and cobwebs in the corners of each room. There are six rooms to choose from, all with sparse furniture that looks like it was picked up from separate antique garage sales. After a quick look in each room, Killian exclaims that he's going to get their stuff from the car and shoots down the stairs before she can even attempt to stop him.

By the time evening hits, they're each settled into rooms across from each other. Every noise causes her to shift apprehensively in her seat by the window, and she has to swallow a scream when Killian lightly taps on her doorframe to ask if she wants to play card games down in one of the common rooms.

The same low lighting follows them there, and Emma is looking at each shadow out of the corner of her eyes in between her turns at Rummy. Killian carries on as if there's nothing different about this stayover. He's chatty enough for the both of them, talking about the history of the building that he's already learned from the pamphlets at the small cabin where they checked in. While his voice is soothing and the information should be fascinating, hearing about the ghost encounters and the strange occurrences throughout the building's long standing status only serves to further creep her out.

By the time they retire for the night, Emma is twitching at every sound she hears, every creak in the floorboards, every errant tap on the window, every breeze from unopened windows, every accompanying noise that has no source, and it only takes her twenty minutes to realize she'll never fall asleep. With trepidation in every tiptoe, she makes her way across the hallway and over to Killian's door. She knocks lightly to see if he's still awake, and when there's no reply, she carefully twists the crystal knob and inches the door open just enough to let herself in.

Killian is fast asleep, sprawled across the king-size bed and snoring lightly. She practically runs when a roll of thunder sounds outside, and she swears someone must be controlling the weather because there were no storms in the forecast for this whole weekend, let alone this specific night. When she reaches the bed, it's like finding her home base, and she crawls up onto the tall bed as gracefully as she can manage, sliding under the covers and pressing herself close to Killian's side with little preamble.

He stirs a little as she settles herself in, murmuring comforting words without really being awake and wrapping an arm around her shoulders to hold her close. Her hand settles on the bare skin of his side and she wonders if she's ever actually seen her coworker without his shirt before, as her fingers slide along his warm skin.

Lord knows she's seen that chest hair before, the top two buttons on his shirt always open at the office, his sleeves rolled up to expose those beautiful forearms as he draws up ideas on the whiteboard. He wears a pair of slacks like they're leather pants, and she can't help but stare as he draws his hands through his hair while he's thinking.

"Scared, love?"

Emma's knocked out of her thoughts by the gentle rumble of Killian's voice, the tightening of his arm around her. She thinks he might also be smelling her hair, but she can't be sure.

"No," is her stubborn response, but another loud crack of thunder has her shifting further into his side.

"I never knew you were the affectionate type, then," he comments as he brings his free hand up to idly rub along the one she has clutched over his abdomen. She jumps at the contact, and he goes to pull away, but Emma immediately grabs his hand.

"Only when it counts," she tells him.

They lapse into silence again, and while she's sure Killian has fallen asleep again, her eyes remain open in the darkened room.

"You know," he says quietly, gently, "I quite fancy you when you're not yelling at me."

The admission makes her smile, because she known about his affections for a while. She'd have to be blind not to notice. But as coworkers, and sometimes teammates on projects, she's never been sure about letting him know she returns the feelings. Now seems like a good time to tell him, though.

"Clearly, I feel nothing in return," Emma jokes, cutting out the subtlety by sliding one of her legs over his thigh. Before she has a chance to overthink it, Emma lifts her head to see the surprised and pleased expression on his face, his eyebrow raised in question. She answers with a kiss, instead of words.

It's only once his hand is down the back of her sleep pants, palming her ass, that she wonders if they're going too fast.

"We shouldn't be doing this here," he mentions, but when Emma's hand creeps down into his boxers, he doesn't try to bring up the fact that they're in a creepy haunted lodge all alone during a thunderstorm again.

"Think this is what they meant by teambuilding exercises?" he asks her when it's all said and done, when they've become intimately acquainted with every inch of each other and have witnessed the other's O face, up close and personal.

"Probably not," Emma admits, "but I feel like the office would be a _much_ more harmonious place if we did this more often."

The sound of his laugh, muffled by her skin where he's nuzzling her shoulder as they drift off to sleep, helps her forget that there are probably cupboards opening and closing downstairs, and ghosts running off with her abandoned suitcase in the other room. That's fine, just as long as they don't take Killian.


	32. Always You (T)

_A/N: I feel like I've come full circle, naming this ficlet after the title of my ficlet spot._

* * *

How he let himself be talked into appearing on this bloody show is beyond him. For weeks now, Killian has been vying for the love of one Emma Swan on national television. Just another dumb dating show, he figured, but he never expected to fall in love with the lass.

The trials for meeting her began with scheduled telephone calls. They each were allowed five minutes of talking to her, and if she hung up before that time, their bid for her attentions was ended immediately. In an attempt to at least get her to laugh when man after man before him struck out, Killian pulled out the best joke he could think of when the phone in front of him rang.

"What's the difference between a dirty bus station and a large-breasted lobster?" he asked as soon as he picked the phone up.

There was stunned silence on the other end for a moment, and he was afraid she'd already hung up. And then she spoke, confusion and intrigue obvious in her voice.

"I don't know, what's the difference?"

A quick sigh of relief escaped him. "Well, one is a crusty bus station and the other is a busty crustacean."

He was delighted when her laugh sounded over the other line, and he couldn't help the smile that blossomed across his face.

"What's your name, funny man?"

"Killian. It's a pleasure to talk to you, Emma."

They spent the full five minutes talking, and when the time was up, she sighed in regret and told him she would talk to him again soon. Without even knowing what she looked like, he was already halfway to love.

The next phone call came a week later. Narrowed down to fifteen candidates, they were each scheduled for the second round with more time. Again, if any of the calls were terminated before the allotted time was up, the gentleman's chances at meeting Emma were immediately over.

Thirty minutes went by entirely too fast for Killian, who wanted nothing more than to listen to Emma Swan's voice for the rest of his days on earth. When it was time for the phone call to end, she again told him how sorry she was that their time was up, ending the call with how much she was looking forward to meeting him.

Only five men made it out of that round. The third step in judgement was a face to face meeting. Each man was given a day and time where they could meet Emma in person. Killian was third. The two men before him were nice enough. The first one, named Graham, gave small details of her, having been the first and only one to see her so far.

The second one, a man by the name of David, confided in Killian that he wasn't even sure what he was doing there. He was pretty sure he'd already met the love of his life back in his hometown, but couldn't figure out how to ask her out. The brave woman, named Snow, was the light of his life. After his meeting with Emma, he again confided in Killian that he felt an instant brotherly connection with Emma, and he hoped that she felt the same sibling vibe from him so neither of them would end up disappointed.

When Killian met Emma, he was so nervous that his palms were sweating, but he hid all of it behind his usual persona of charm and swagger. Seeing her for the first time, he thought that perhaps Botticelli could learn some things about beauty.

"So you are mister funny man, hm?" she asked when she looked up to see him approaching. The rest of the date went spectacularly, and Killian was sorely disappointed to leave her presence. Just as he went to exit, Emma pulled him close and kissed him. She pulled him closer after the short contact, tugging on the lapels of the jacket he wore and making it count.

He walked back to the house they were all staying in, dazed and blissful, and kept the kiss to himself. The other men hadn't mentioned anything about one, and he didn't want to show his hand.

The next man came back from the meeting with Emma bored, mentioning how he wouldn't mind getting her in the sack once and leaving. No one was surprised when he was removed from the house that night.

The last one never came back from his date, escorted off the premises after he tried to touch Emma without her permission.

And now, here they are. The final week, the final three. He, Graham, and David have all been on longer dates with Emma this week, and the way she laughed with him, the way she clearly took no shit from anyone, the way she was spirited and energetic and passionate shown through more than any other time, and all he could do was hope that she would give him the chance to earn her affections.

At the final meeting, they're to be told whether they've been chosen or not. The three men are separated at this point, so Killian won't even see the other two again. He won't know either of their fates until he hears what Emma has to say to him. His nerves are on fire the entire time he waits for her to show up, and when she does, he can feel his heart trying to exit his body.

"Hi," she says quietly when she walks up to the bench where he's seated.

"Hello, love," he returns. He swallows thickly, waiting for the verdict.

"Killian, I want you to know something before I give you my final decision," she starts, and he can feel his heart stop its attempts to exit horizontally through his chest cavity because it drops all the way to his feet. He braces himself for the rejection.

"It's always been you," she says honestly.

His eyes dart back to hers immediate. "What?"

"Always. From that first phone call, I knew who I wanted to be with. I want to see where this goes. I can't promise it'll be perfect. I've had my heart broken in the past."

"I'm glad," he tells her simply, when he's regained his voice.

"You're glad I've had my heart broken?"

"If it can be broken, it means that it still works," he tells her sincerely.

She doesn't respond, only shakes her head with a fond smile before sliding closer to him on the bench and kissing him.

"Shall we go see if we can find some well-endowed lobsters, then?"


	33. Pressure Point (T)

_A/N: Really tiny baby bit that I'm really happy with. This is the last of the quick prompts from Tumblr, and I have one sitting in my inbox here I've yet to get to. This was meant to be much angstier but I'm happier with it the way it is, which is how it ended up so short._

* * *

The machines in the darkened hospital room beep steadily, with Killian, paler than she's used to, asleep amongst the quiet noise. His face is relaxed, one hand folded on top of his stomach, the other by his side with the IVs attached.

She tiptoes to the side of his bed, sinking into the chair that's been left for her and reaching out to place her hand over his. Getting a call that your partner has been shot is always a scary thing, but getting a call that your former partner, now lover has been shot? Even worse.

If she weren't so terrified right now, she'd be threatening him harm for letting himself get here in the first place.

As if sensing her train of thoughts, she hears Killian groan, his eyes squinting in pain as he finally wakes up.

"Swan?" His voice is scratchy, and she squeezes his hand to let him know she's there. "Before you decide to murder me, let me explain…" He opens his eyes to scan her face for murderous intent.

"Killian, you don't have to. You did your job, and you stopped that guy from hurting anyone else. I love you," she reminds him, her voice hitching just the tiniest bit as the words come out.

"Why can you only admit how you feel when one of us is facing certain death? As I recall, this is twice now, love."

"I don't know," she admits with a small laugh and a shrug.

"I'd die for you, you know," he admits quietly. "Of course," he adds, "I would haunt you in the afterlife but really, it's the thought that counts."

"Good to know," she deadpans, pinching the back of his hand lightly in retribution.

If this is the biggest hurdle they have to get through for a while, she would be totally okay with that.


	34. Hold On (M)

It's when Emma's hands start on the removal of Killian's belt that he thinks to stop her, that he thinks 'this probably can't end well,' and that he thinks he'll stop kissing her long enough to say so. Then again, this is Emma Swan, and she's kissing him back, and her fingers are just dipping below the waist of his boxers and how could he possibly allow thoughts to stop him from anything at that point?

They stumble into the bedroom, knocking into anything and everything in their way in the process of falling into Killian's bed, just barely managing to get naked enough before Emma twists around to pull a condom from the spot he always keeps them in his nightstand. The move is so painfully familiar, as is the one where she rips the wrapper open and rolls the condom down his cock.

Groans escape from both of them the moment they come together. And it feels something like coming home for him, even though he's already home. It's only after, when Emma sighs in post-coital bliss and drifts off with her bare back pressed against his chest that the thoughts creep back in.

Their relationship dissolved six weeks ago.

In the morning, Killian is not surprised to find the bed beside him empty. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, crawling from the bed and slipping on a fresh pair of boxers as he searches for his robe. He figures he must've left it in the bathroom or something, and makes his way out of his room to make coffee. What _does_ surprise him is Emma exiting his kitchen at that exact moment, wearing his robe, sipping from her favorite mug.

"You're out of the good kind," she remarks, heading straight to the living room and her usual spot on the couch.

He blinks a few times, pinching his left arm and checking to make sure he doesn't have two hands (a surefire way to usually tell if he's dreaming), before heading to pour himself a mug and wandering to his own spot on the couch.

They agreed to be friends when Emma decided that they were moving too fast, ignoring the fact that they'd been together for almost half a year by the time she came to this conclusion. They decided that they would remain friends because that's what they were in the first place. And while the six weeks that followed were awkward to start, they had eased back into a rhythm that felt a lot to Killian like dating without the cuddling. Then, one night, Emma slumped against him during the movie they were watching, and crawled into his bed that night. So, it was like dating, without the sex. And then last night…

Killian, understandably, is a little confused.

"Do you work today?" Emma asks, knocking him from his reverie.

"Nope, off today." He sips at his coffee, waiting for the moment it gets weird.

It never does. In fact, the entire day that Emma ends up lounging around his place, it never gets weird. Eventually, he heads in to shower, changing into a pair of jeans Emma bought him for Christmas and the shirt she's always loved.

She steals one of his t-shirts, but gives up his robe after she gets dressed. And when she leaves that evening, she gives him a hug and tells him she'll text him later.

Things stay the same after that. They hang out, sometimes they have sex, sometimes they drink on his couch and watch movies until one of them passes out and the other shuffles them both off to bed. They hang out at his place, they hang out at her place, and it feels just like they're dating, but they're no longer technically dating.

It's another six weeks later that Emma's in his lap, kissing him within an inch of his life, that the thought pops back into his head that this is not what friends do. Well, some friends do, but this is certainly not what he and Emma did when they just called themselves friends. But there's a fear in the back of his mind, that if he points this out to her, this will all stop. She doesn't give him much of a choice, though, when he buries his face against her neck and the three words come out as a very contented sigh.

"I love you," she breathes out, and it's about as effective as the ice bucket challenge in getting him to jerk away in surprise. Judging by the expression on Emma's face, she's fully aware of what she said, and that she wasn't supposed to say it. They stare at each other, eyes wide, with Killian's mouth open in shock and Emma chewing on her bottom lip for a moment. "I'm – I'm sorry, Killian." She moves to shift off his lap but he holds her in place.

"No no, not this time. We're going to talk about it this time."

"Killian," she all but whines.

"Emma," he says, mimicking her voice. "Look, I have loved you longer than I care to admit. I have loved you still, even after you decided to call us off. I will love you until you tell me to stop loving you, and probably long after that," he tells her, as if reciting the weather outside, as if this is something she should've just _known_ , and maybe she did, but maybe she also needs reminding. He carefully tucks her hair behind her ear and tilts her chin up so she'll look at him.

"I was afraid if we stopped that you wouldn't be my friend anymore. And then," she sighs, "and then it felt natural to sleep in your bed and steal the bacon off your plate because I was still hungry, and slide on your robe after the same amazing sex we always had."

She stops, burying her face in her hands for a minute as Killian continues to try comforting her by gently rubbing her arm. "I was afraid you'd get bored of me, like the others did. I couldn't lose you, too."

"Emma, my love, we have been friends for a third of our lives. I haven't been bored during a single minute of it, and I doubt I ever will be."

Her smile is still muted, just barely reaching her eyes, but she places her hands on his chest, tapping her thumbs to the rhythm of the beating of his heart. "Would you, ah, want to maybe try again?"

"I don't think it's successfully called 'trying again' when we never really stopped, love."

She chuckles in response, shifting forward and reminding him of exactly what they'd been up to before they sorted things out.

"And this?"

"This we never really stopped, either, but I think we should continue it in the bedroom so I can detail all the ways I missed you."

They did, and he did. And three months later, she officially moved in.


End file.
